"Oh, dear me! you never will let me have any fun," declared Bess, her
eyes sparkling.

"Do you call a public brawl, fun?" demanded Nan, as they opened the door
of the car.

At that moment, just as the two girls with the squirming, shivering
puppy, were about to step out upon the platform between the baggage cars,
they were startled by a muffled shout from overhead.

"Oh! what's that?" gasped Bess.

Both she and Nan looked up. Lumps of snow from the roof of the tunnel
began to fall. Then came a louder shout and a pair of booted legs burst
through the roof.

"Goodness--gracious--me!" cried Nan. "Here comes--"

"An angelic visitor!" squealed Bess.

With another shout of alarm, a snow-covered figure plunged to the
platform. The cowhide boots landed first, so the man remained upright. He
carried a can in each hand, and all around the covers was frozen milk,
betraying at once the nature of his load.

He was a slim, wiry man, in a ragged greatcoat, a cap pulled over his
ears, sparkling, little, light-blue eyes of phenomenal shrewdness, and a
sparse, strawcolor chin-whisker.