tin-cup's rim. The happy idea of going out on the platform struck him,
and he acted upon it. The morning air was deliciously cool and fresh
by contrast, and he filled his lungs with it again and again. Standing
here, he could discern beyond the buildings to the right the faint
purplish outlines of great rounded hills. Some workmen, one of them
bearing a torch, were crouching along under the side of the train,
pounding upon the resonant wheels with small hammers. He recalled having
heard the same sound in the watches of the night, during a prolonged
halt. Some one had said it was Albany. He smiled in spite of himself at
the thought that Bishop Sanderson would never know about the visit he
had missed.

Swinging himself to the ground, he bent sidewise and looked forward down
the long train. There were five, six, perhaps more, sleeping-cars on
in front. Which one of them, he wondered--and then there came the sharp
"All aboard!" from the other side, and he bundled up the steps again,
and entered the car as the train slowly resumed its progress.

He was wide-awake now, and quite at his ease. He took his seat, and
diverted himself by winking gravely at a little child facing him on the
next seat but one. There were four other children in the family party,
encamped about the tired and still sleeping mother whose back was turned
to Theron. He recalled now having noticed this poor woman last night,
in the first stage of his journey--how she fed her brood from one of the
numerous baskets piled under their feet, and brought water in a tin dish
of her own from the tank to use in washing their faces with a rag, and
loosened their clothes to dispose them for the night's sleep. The face
of the woman, her manner and slatternly aspect, and the general effect
of her belongings, bespoke squalid ignorance and poverty. Watching her,
Theron had felt curiously interested in the performance. In one sense,