puddles around her feet, when the man who had them in charge came
through the car again. He whisked her impatiently into a seat, setting
her down hard. She made a saucy face behind his back, and began to
sing at the top of her voice.

One little tot had fallen and bumped its head as the train gave a
sudden lurch. It was crying pitifully, but in a subdued sort of
whimper, as if it felt that crying was of no use when nobody listened
and nobody cared. He picked it up, made a clumsy effort to comfort
it, and, not knowing what else to do, sat down beside it. Then for the
first time he noticed Mrs. Estel.

She had taken a pair of scissors from her travelling-bag, and had cut
several newspapers up into soldiers and dolls and all kinds of animals
for the crowd that clamored around her.

They were such restless little bodies, imprisoned so long on this
tedious journey, that anything with a suggestion of novelty was
welcome.

When she had supplied them with a whole regiment of soldiers and
enough animals to equip a menagerie, she took another paper and began
teaching them to fold it in curious ways to make boxes, and boats, and
baskets.

One by one they crowded up closer to her, watching her as if she were
some wonderful magician. They leaned their dusty heads against her
fresh gray travelling-dress. They touched her dainty gloves with
dirty, admiring fingers. They did not know that this was the first
time that she had ever come in close contact with such lives as