Half an hour later, a grocer’s boy knocked at the door of the Welsh cottage and handed in a great basket of dainties, and Allan was soon smiling over a bowl of steaming oyster soup, with Jack and his wife and Mamie grouped about the bed watching him enjoy it. And I don’t believe there is any more exquisite pleasure in the world than that which they experienced in that moment! The winter days were clear and bright, and Allan found a rare enjoyment in lying back in the great chair which Mrs. Welsh had padded expressly for him, and looking out over the yards and watching the busy life there. He was sitting so one afternoon when some one turned in at the gate and mounted the path to the house. “Why, it’s Misther Schofield!” cried Mary, and hastily dusted off a chair with her apron, in honour of the distinguished visitor,—not that it needed dusting. The train-master came up with smiling face. “How are you, Mrs. Welsh?” he asked. “And how is the invalid?” He sat down by the side of the chair, and, reaching over, gave Allan’s hand a hearty clasp. “Do you know, I am ashamed of myself for not getting here before this,” he went on, genially, “but I have kept posted about you, because I wanted to know when you were ready to go back to work.” “I’ll be ready before long, sir,” said Allan, smiling in sympathy with his guest’s good humour. “I’m getting quite strong again.” But Mrs. Welsh interrupted him. “Listen at th’ boy!” she cried, indignantly. “Why, Misther Schofield, an’ him with a bullethole clear through him t’ think o’ goin’ out an’ workin’ on section!” The train-master was smiling more broadly than ever. “It does seem pretty tough, doesn’t it?” he said. “Here’s a boy who’s saved the company’s pay-car with two hundred thousand dollars in it, and the lives of ten or fifteen men, and came within a hair’s breadth of getting killed. And yet he has to work on section for forty dollars a month. But then, there’s not so much danger on section any more; we’ve routed the tramps, you know, for good and all. Still, it’s pretty tough.” “Tough!” and Mrs. Welsh looked at him with flaming eyes. “It’s worse ’n that, beggin’ your pardon, sir. It’s a sin an’ a shame! It’s a disgrace t’ th’ company!” Allan tried to silence her, but she would not be silenced. He stole a horrified glance at Mr. Schofield, and was astonished to see that he was still smiling. “A disgrace!” repeated that official. “Well, I agree with you, Mrs. Welsh. So we’re not going to let him go back on section. We can’t afford to waste a good man that way. It’s a little late for a Christmas gift, maybe, but he’s earned it and he’s going to get it.” Mary stared at the speaker, speechless.