"Well, now we're going back to try England. You never did really try
England. And you know how beautiful it'll be in the country, with the
primroses in bloom and the young lambs in the fields." The caressing
hand grew even softer. "And you're not going to forget how mother
believed in the invention; you can't do that."

Hutchinson lifted his head and looked at her.

"Eh, Ann," he said, "you are a comfortable little body. You've got a
way with you just like your poor mother had. You always say the right
thing to help a chap pull himself together. Your mother did believe in
it, didn't she?"

She had, indeed, believed in it, though her faith was founded more
upon confidence in "Mr. Hutchinson" than in any profound knowledge of
the mechanical appliance his inspiration would supply. She knew it had
something important to do with locomotive engines, and she knew that
if railroad magnates would condescend to consider it, her husband was
sure that fortune would flow in. She had lived with the "invention,"
as it was respectfully called, for years.

"That she did," answered Little Ann. "And before she died she said to
me: 'Little Ann,' she said, 'there's one thing you must never let your
father do. You must never let him begin not to believe in his
invention. Your father's a clever man, and it's a clever invention,
and it'll make his fortune yet. You must remind him how I believed in
it and how sure I was.'"

Hutchinson rubbed his hands thoughtfully. He had heard this before,