I noticed that his face though grave was unruffled; but he
made me no reply.
I could not explain the reason, but I felt grieved that I had made the
remark, and slipped quietly out of the room without my usual good-night.
The next day we left for home. Mr. Winthrop was not fortunate in meeting
friends; so he sat beside us. I would have preferred being alone with
Mrs. Flaxman, without the restraint of his society. We had not been able
on that train to secure a parlor car, for which I was very glad. There
seemed more variety and wider types of humanity in the plainer car, and I
liked to study the different groups and indulge in my dreams concerning
them. My attention was suddenly attracted, at a station we were
approaching, by a hearse and funeral procession apparently waiting for
us. The cars moving along presently hid them from my view, and my
attention was suddenly distracted from this melancholy spectacle by the
unusual circumstance of a man coming alone into the car with an infant in
his arms. The cars scarcely paused, and while I watched to see the mother
following her baby the brakeman came in with an armfull of shawls,
satchels, and baskets. The baby soon began to cry; when it was pitiful to
watch the poor fellow's futile efforts to hush its wailings, while he
tossed over the parcels apparently in search of something; but the baby's
cries continued to increase in volume, and the missing article, whatever
it was, refused to turn up.
Mr. Winthrop cast a look on it that might have annihilated a much
stronger specimen of humanity; but the father, as I supposed him to be,
intercepted the wrathful gaze, and his face, already sorrowful looking,
became more distressed than ever.
Pages:
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138