“We'll have to stop, then!” Fred exclaimed, fearing a vague something which seemed to hover, like a threat, in the air about him. At that moment he gave way to the superstitious feeling that it was the direct hand of Providence which had delayed him there, of all spots on the long journey. “It looks like it now, sir,” the porter answered; and as he left, Walton turned and saw Whipple close beside him. “Why, it won't make any difference to us,” the old man said, in evident wonder over his protégé's disappointment. “We'll be sound asleep in our berths. I don't know but what I'd kind o' like _one_ night's rest without so much jostle and motion. We can get a good breakfast in the dining-car in the morning, and go on our way as smooth as goose-grease.” “Yes, yes,” Fred said. But the thought had come to him that they might be delayed till the next morning, and the idea of passing through his old home in the broad light of day was far from pleasant. What if he should actually meet his father or some officer of the law whose duty it would be to arrest him, right when he had begun to hope that he might ultimately earn his freedom? Fred went back into the car, followed by the drowsy Whipple, and took a seat by a window. It was open, and by leaning out he could see the lights of Stafford. Under the skies he had known as a child, on the same hillsides, they blazed and beckoned. Suppressing a groan, he told himself that he would go to bed and try to sleep; but he delayed, held in his place by some weird charm. At ten o'clock, when Whipple was stowed away, Fred went out of the car once more. On the sidetrack he met the conductor. “How long shall we be here?” Walton inquired. “Till three o'clock, sir,” the conductor said, as they walked along toward the locomotive. “I wonder if I'd have time to walk to town and look around,” Fred said. “I don't feel like turning in right now.” “Plenty, plenty,” the conductor answered. “It is only a mile or so to the square.” “Then I'll go,” Walton said, and he walked away, thankful that the night was cloudy. On he went down the railway, in the streaming glare of the locomotive's headlight, till he reached the first street leading into Stafford. Ahead, in the light of many lanterns, a throng of trackmen were at work on the wreck. How changed was the landscape he had once known so well! Spots which had been old barren fields, dismantled brick-yards, and stretches of forest, were now, thanks to the enterprise of Kenneth Galt, filled with cottages, cotton factories, iron-foundries, and other industries. To the right, on a common, which used to be the ball-ground where the team, of which Fred had been the popular captain, had played in his schooldays, the round-house and machine-shops of the S. R. & M. had risen. New thoroughfares had been opened, natural elevations graded away, and uncouth gullies filled.