“They never have yet, Mr. Jackson,” she returned. “Their place is on the other side of the river, and a mile above my house, you know. I see them in their boats on The Bend, though, and once in a while they call on me. But the Elbow Rock rapids begin in front of my place, and the clubhouse people don't usually come that far down the river.” She turned to Judy, and, with the girl, went out of the waiting room to the platform, where she whispered: “You must start back right away, Judy. If your father is on the train, he might see you.” “What if pap ketches sight of you-all?” Judy returned nervously. “He will not be so apt to notice me as he would you,” she returned, “even if he does catch a glimpse of me. And it can't be helped if he does. I'll be in Chicago as quick as he will, and I know I will see Mr. Ward first. Go on now, dear, and don't let Mr. Burns or Betty Jo see you, and be a good girl. I feel sure that everything will be all right.” With a sudden awkward movement, poor Judy caught the old gentlewoman's hand and pressed it to her lips; then, turning, ran toward the buggy. When the train arrived, the station agent came to help Auntie Sue with her handbag aboard, and she managed to keep her friend between herself and the coaches, in case Jap Taylor should be looking from a window. As the conductor and the agent assisted her up the steps, the agent said: “Mind you take good care of her, Bill. Finest old lady God-Almighty ever made! If you was to let anything happen to her, you best never show yourself in this neighborhood again; we'd lynch you, sure!” The conductor found a good seat for his lovely old passenger, and made her as comfortable as possible. As he punched her ticket, he said, with a genial smile, which was the voluntary tribute paid to Auntie Sue by all men: “You are not much like the passengers I usually carry in this part of the country, ma'm. They are mostly a rather rough-lookin' lot.” She smiled back at him, understanding perfectly his intended compliment. “They are good people, though, sir,--most of them. Of course, there are some who are a little wild, sometimes, I expect.” The railroad man laughed again, shaking his head. “I should say so. You ought to see the specimen I've got in the smoker. I picked him up back there at Gardner. Perhaps you have heard of him--Jap Taylor. He is about the worst in the whole country, I reckon.” “I have heard of him,” she returned. “I do hope he won't come into this coach.” “Oh, he won't start anything on my train,” laughed the man in blue reassuringly. “He would never come in here, anyhow. Them kind always stay in the smoker. Seems like they know where they belong. He is half-scared to death himself, anyway; he is going to Chicago, too, and I'll bet it's the first time in his life he has ever been farther from these hills than Springfield.” CHAPTER XX. BRIAN AND BETTY JO KEEP HOUSE.