"Faneuil's next," he said aloud in the car, as the long-forgotten
home-knowledge shone forth in his recollection. The traveller seated near
said, "Beg pardon?" but, turning, wondered at the all-unconscious Lin,
with his forehead pressed against the glass. The blue water flashed into
sight, and soon after they were running in the darkness between high
walls; but the cow-puncher never moved, though nothing could be seen.
When the porter announced "Boston," he started up and followed like a
sheep in the general exodus. Down on the platform he moved along with the
slow crowd till some one touched him, and, wheeling round, he seized both
his brother's hands and swore a good oath of joy.

There they stood--the long, brown fellow with the silk handkerchief
knotted over his flannel shirt, greeting tremendously the spruce
civilian, who had a rope-colored mustache and bore a fainthearted
resemblance to him. The story was plain on its face to the passers-by;
and one of the ladies who had come in the car with Lin turned twice, and
smiled gently to herself.

But Frank McLean's heart did not warm. He felt that what he had been
afraid of was true; and he saw he was being made conspicuous. He saw men
and women stare in the station, and he saw them staring as he and his
Western brother went through the streets. Lin strode along, sniffing the
air of Boston, looking at all things, and making it a stretch for his
sleek companion to keep step with him. Frank thought of the refined
friends he should have to introduce his brother to; for he had risen with
his salary, and now belonged to a small club where the paying-tellers of
banks played cards every night, and the head clerk at the Parker House
was president. Perhaps he should not have to reveal the cow-puncher to
these shining ones. Perhaps the cow-puncher would not stay very long. Of
course he was glad to see him again, and he would take him to dine at