Framed by the window an active railroad panorama spread out, and beyond
that view the quaint town of Pleasantville.

Bart had spent all his young life here. He knew every nook and corner of
the place, and nearly every man, woman and child in the village.

Pleasantville did not belie its name to Bart's way of thinking. He voted
its people, its surroundings, and life in general there, as pleasant as
could well be.

Here he was born, and he had found nothing to complain of, although he
was what might be called a poor boy.

There were his mother, his two sisters and two small brothers at home,
and sometimes it took a good deal to go around, but Bart's father had a
steady job, and Bart himself was an agreeable, willing boy, just at the
threshold of doing something to earn a living and wide-awake for the
earliest opportunity.

Mr. Stirling had been express agent for the B. & M. for eight years,
and was counted a reliable, efficient employee of the company.

For some months, however, his health had not been of the best, and Bart
had been glad when he was impressed into service to relieve his father
when laid up with his occasional foe, the rheumatism, or to watch the
office at mealtimes.

Bart was on duty in this regard at the present time. It was about five
in the afternoon, but it was also the third of July, and that date, like