While this conversation was going on behind the ticket window, the two
boys stretched themselves out on a long bench beside the stove. The warm
room made them feel drowsy after their violent out-door exercise. Keith,
the younger one, yawned several times, and finally lay down on the bench
with his cap for a pillow. He was eight years old, but curled up in that
fashion, with his long eyelashes resting on his red cheeks, and one
plump little hand tucked under his chin, he looked much younger.

"Wake me up, Malcolm, when it's time for Aunt Allison's train," he said
to his brother. "Ginger would never stop teasing me if she should find
me asleep."

Malcolm unbuttoned his reefer, and, after much tugging, pulled out a
handsome little gold watch. "Oh, there's a long time to wait!" he
exclaimed. "We need not have left the pond so early, for the train will
not be here for twenty-five minutes. I believe I'll curl up here myself,
till then. I hope they won't forget the valentines we sent for."

The room was very still for a few minutes. There was no sound at all
except the crackling of the fire and the shivering of the wind in the
long stovepipe. Then some one turned the door-knob so cautiously and
slowly that it unlatched without a sound.

It was the cold air rushing into the room as the door was pushed ajar
that aroused the boys. After one surprised glance they sat up, for the
man, who was slipping into the room as stealthily as a burglar, was the
worst-looking tramp they had ever seen. There was a long, ugly red scar
across his face, running from his cheek to the middle of his forehead,
and partly closing one eye. Perhaps it was the scar that gave him such a
queer, evil sort of an expression; even without it he would have been a