into the snow and started to explore the edge of a little,
snow-smothered pond which a score of red-mittened children were trying
frantically to clear with huge yellow brooms. Out from the crowd of
loafers that hung about the station a lean yellow hound came nosing
aimlessly forward, and then suddenly, with much fawning and many
capers, annexed itself to the Young Electrician's heels like a dog
that has just rediscovered its long-lost master. Halfway up the car
the French Canadian mother and her brood of children crowded their
faces close to the window--and thought they were watching the snow.

And suddenly the car seemed very empty. The Youngish Girl thought it
was her book that had grown so astonishingly devoid of interest. Only
the Traveling Salesman seemed to know just exactly what was the
matter. Craning his neck till his ears reddened, he surveyed and
resurveyed the car, complaining: "What's become of all the folks?"

A little nervously the Youngish Girl began to laugh. "Nobody has
gone," she said, "except--the Young Electrician."

With a grunt of disbelief the Traveling Salesman edged over to the
window and peered out through the deepening frost on the pane.
Inquisitively the Youngish Girl followed his gaze. Already across the
cold, white, monotonous, snow-smothered landscape the pale afternoon
light was beginning to wane, and against the lowering red and purple
streaks of the wintry sunset the Young Electrician's figure, with the
little huddling pack on its shoulder, was silhouetted vaguely, with an
almost startling mysticism, like the figure of an unearthly Traveler
starting forth upon an unearthly journey into an unearthly West.

"Ain't he the nice boy!" exclaimed the Traveling Salesman with almost