and the great black eyes, which Harold noticed later as peculiar,
flashed a look of inquiry upon John, as he said:

'Break-down? What is that!'

'A party--a smasher! Mr. Tracy is running for Congress.' was John's
reply.

And then over the thin face there crept a ghost of a smile, which, faint
as it was, changed the expression wonderfully.

'Oh, a party!' he said. 'Well, I will be a guest, too. I have my
dress-suit in some of those trunks. Frank is going to Congress, is he?
That's a good joke! Drive on. What are you standing there for?'

The carriage door was shut, and, mounting the box, John drove as rapidly
toward Tracy Park as the darkness of the night would admit, while the
passenger inside sat with his hat over his eyes, and his chin almost
touching his breast, as if absorbed in thought, or else not thinking at
all. Once, however, he spoke to himself, and said:

'Poor little Gretchen! I wonder how I could have forgotten and left her
in the train. What will she do alone in a strange place? But perhaps
Heaven will take care of her. She always said so. I wish I had her faith
and could believe as she does. Poor little Gretchen!'

They had turned into the park by this time, and very soon draw up before
the house, from every window of which lights were flashing, while the
sounds of music and dancing could be distinctly heard.