"And why are you here--to play or to work?"

The question was unwarrantable, but an Irishman can dispense with
warranty in a manner unknown to other men. It had ever been Blake's way
to ask what he desired to know.

This time no offence showed itself in the boy's face.

"In part to work, in part to play, monsieur," he answered, gravely; "in
part to learn life."

The reply was strange to Blake's ears--strange in its grave sincerity,
stranger still in its quiet fearlessness.

"But you are such a child!" he cried, impulsively. "You--"

Imperceptibly the slight figure stiffened, the proud look flashed again
into the eyes.

"Many thanks, monsieur, but I am older than you think--and very
independent. I have the honor monsieur, to wish you good-bye."

The tone was absolutely courteous, but it was final. He bowed with easy
foreign grace, raised his fur cap, and, turning, swung down the platform
and out of sight.

Blake stood watching him--watching until the high head, the straight
shoulders, the lithe, swinging body were but a memory; then he turned
with a start, as a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and the pleasant,