BIG BROTHER.


Every coach on the long western-bound train was crowded with
passengers. Dust and smoke poured in at the windows and even the
breeze seemed hot as it blew across the prairie cornfields burning in
the July sun.

[Illustration]

It was a relief when the engine stopped at last in front of a small
village depot. There was a rush for the lunch counter and the
restaurant door, where a noisy gong announced dinner.

"Blackberries! blackberries!" called a shrill little voice on the
platform. A barefoot girl, wearing a sunbonnet, passed under the car
windows, holding up a basket full, that shone like great black beads.
A gentleman who had just helped two ladies to alight from the steps
of a parlor car called to her and began to fumble in his pockets for
the right change.

"Blackberries! blackberries!" sang another voice mockingly. This time
it came from a roguish-looking child, hanging half-way out of a window
in the next car. He was a little fellow, not more than three years
old. His hat had fallen off, and his sunny tangle of curls shone
around a face so unusually beautiful that both ladies uttered an
exclamation of surprise.