Jim Young winked over his shoulder at Albert. “Sorry, Is,” he said, as he continued toward the baggage car. “I didn't notice you WAS in front of me.” “Well, then, you'd better. . . . Eh? See here, what do you mean by that?” Even after Mr. Price had thus been pushed out of the foreground, so to speak, Albert was denied the opportunity of taking his place by Helen's side. Her father had a few last messages to deliver, then Captain Zelotes shook her hand and talked for a moment, and, after that, the ladies of the sewing circle and the war work society felt it their duty to, severally and jointly, kiss her good-by. This last was a trying operation to watch. Then the engine bell rang and the train began to move. Albert, running beside the platform of the last car, held up his hand for a farewell clasp. “Good-by,” he said, and added in a whisper, “You'll write, won't you?” “Of course. And so must you. Good-by.” The last car and the handkerchief waving figure on its platform disappeared around the curve. The little group by the station broke up. Albert and his grandfather walked over to the office together. “There goes a good girl, Al,” was Captain Lote's only comment. “A mighty good capable girl.” Albert nodded. A moment later he lifted his hat to a group in a passing automobile. “Who were those folks?” asked the Captain. “The Fosdicks,” was the reply. “The people who are going to build down by the Inlet.” It was Madeline and her mother. The latter had been serenely indifferent, but the young lady had smiled and bowed behind the maternal shoulders. “Oh; that so?” observed Captain Zelotes, looking after the flying car with interest. “That's who 'tis, eh? Nice lookin', the young one, ain't she?” Albert did not answer. With the noise of the train which was carrying Helen out of his life still ringing in his ears it seemed wicked even to mention another girl's name, to say nothing of commenting upon her good looks. For the rest of that day he was a gloomy spirit, a dark shadow in the office of Z. Snow and Co. Before the end of another fortnight the season at South Harniss was definitely over. The hotel closed on the Saturday following the dance, and by October first the last of the cottages was locked and shuttered. The Kelseys went on the twentieth and the Fosdicks went with them. Albert met Madeline and Jane at the post-office in the evening of the nineteenth and there more farewells were said. “Don't forget us down here in the sand, will you?” he suggested to Miss Fosdick. It was Jane Kelsey who answered. “Oh, she won't forget,” returned that young lady. “Why she has your photograph to remember you by.” Madeline colored becomingly and was, as Jane described it, “awfully fussed.” “Nonsense!” she exclaimed, with much indignation, “I haven't any such thing. You know I haven't, Jane.”