"I wish to see Mrs. Bell. Is not this Mrs. Bell's house?" said the
young man, shaking the snow from out of the breast of his coat.

He did see Mrs. Bell, and we will now tell who he was, and why he
had come, and how it came to pass that his carpet-bag was brought
down to the widow's house and one of the front bedrooms was prepared
for him, and that he drank tea that night in the widow's parlour.

His name was Aaron Dunn, and by profession he was an engineer. What
peculiar misfortune in those days of frost and snow had befallen the
line of rails which runs from Schenectady to Lake Champlain, I never
quite understood. Banks and bridges had in some way come to grief,
and on Aaron Dunn's shoulders was thrown the burden of seeing that
they were duly repaired. Saratoga Springs was the centre of these
mishaps, and therefore at Saratoga Springs it was necessary that he
should take up his temporary abode.

Now there was at that time in New York city a Mr. Bell, great in
railway matters--an uncle of the once thriving but now departed
Albany lawyer. He was a rich man, but he liked his riches himself;
or at any rate had not found himself called upon to share them with
the widow and daughters of his nephew. But when it chanced to come
to pass that he had a hand in despatching Aaron Dunn to Saratoga, he
took the young man aside and recommended him to lodge with the
widow. "There," said he, "show her my card." So much the rich
uncle thought he might vouchsafe to do for the nephew's widow.

Mrs. Bell and both her daughters were in the parlour when Aaron Dunn
was shown in, snow and all. He told his story in a rough, shaky
voice, for his teeth chattered; and he gave the card, almost wishing