“No,” said Jack. “You’ll have t’ tell her. I couldn’t to save my soul.” “I’ll tell her,” said Mary, quietly. “She’ll be proud when she knows.” And then the door opened and they saw the doctor standing on the threshold. “Come in,” he said softly. “You can see him now; and it’s all right.” “You mean he ain’t dead?” asked Jack. “No, nor going to die. Is this Mamie?” he added, turning to the young woman. “Yes,” she answered. “He’s been asking for you. He mustn’t be excited,” he added, looking at the others. “Is it necessary that you see him?” Mary gulped back the indignant words which rose to her lips. Necessary that she see her boy! “No,” she said, steadily. “We’ll jest excite him. You go, Mamie. Jack’ll wait fer ye,” and she held Jack by the hand until Mamie had entered and the door had closed behind her. “It’s her place, not mine,” she said. “An’ now I’ll go over t’ the Magraws.” “Mary,” said Jack, hoarsely, and put his arm around her, “you’re the bravest little woman I iver knew. I’m proud of ye.” But Mary felt anything but brave as, in the gray light of the dawn, she slowly crossed the tracks and mounted the path to the door of the little house. For, after all, what could she say to lighten the force of the blow? What could anyone say? Suppose it was some one else coming to tell her of Jack? She caught her breath sharply— And then she was conscious that the door was open and when she looked up, she saw Mrs. Magraw standing there and gazing down at her, a strange light in her eyes. “Come in,” she said, and led the way into the little parlour, from which, during the night, she had watched the flames across the yards. “I knowed ye’d come,” she added. “I knowed ye’d want t’ be the one t’ tell me—an’ I thank ye, Mary Welsh.” “You—you know?” gasped Mary, staring at her. “Somebody’s told you?” “No, nobody’s told me; but I know. I knowed when I saw him goin’ away that he was niver comin’ back.” “An’ you let him go?” “Yes, I sent him.” “Sent him?” “T’ guard the boy? Did he guard him?” And Mary Welsh flung herself upon her knees before the other woman and buried her face in her lap. “He did!” she said, thickly. “With his life.” * * * * * Mr. Schofield, relieved of the stress of duty at Cincinnati, arrived at Wadsworth on the early train next day, and at once took charge of the situation. There was much to do. The whole train-service of the road had to be reorganized, the ravelled ends gathered up again, the freight-house rebuilt, traffic provided for; and for four days and nights he thought of nothing else. Then, the first strain past, he put on his hat one afternoon, and started back over the yards to a little house which stood high on an embankment facing them.