22S 
THE LADIES' FL 01AL CABINET. 
over all the books-and papers in the house, and holds 
interviews with ragged boys in the hall at the top of his 
lungs—well, unless his sister was a deaf-mute or an 
idiot, I think she could hardly help having some idea 
what he was thinking of.” 
“But what about advertising? How could I adver¬ 
tise when I don’t know her name ? ” 
“ And if you did, what would be the use of advertis¬ 
ing at all ? ” retorted Janie. “I should couch it something- 
like this: ‘ If the “ Mabel’’who sent a box of flowers to 
“Angela,” on July 1st, 1882, will address J. C., Box—, 
N. Y. P. O., she cau obtain the letter and photograph 
which were enclosed.’ I am afraid it is too late to do 
much good, though. If you had only consulted me at 
fii-st, it would have been far better.” 
Whethei' the advertisement would have been effectual 
if it had been inserted at first, it is impossible to say. 
Certainly it was useless at that late date, for no answer 
whatever did Jack receive to it. Time went on, and if 
his interest did not wear out, his patience did. The 
photograph still held the place of honor in his pocket- 
book, but he looked at it less and less often. When he 
did, it was with the melancholy look which one gives 
to a dream which has faded out of one’s life. 
A year had[passed away, and the season of Wild Roses 
had come once more, when Jack Carroll and Janie left 
the cars at one of the way-stations on the same line by 
which Jack had traveled, on that memorable first of 
July. They were not the only ones at the little station. 
An elderly gentleman was pacing restlessly back and 
forth, now consulting his watch, now casting an im¬ 
patient look down the track. As Jack’s wagon, drawn 
by its two gay horses drove up, he rushed forward 
eagerly and accosted the driver. A look of blank disap¬ 
pointment overspread his face as he heard the man’s an¬ 
swer, and followed with his eye the direction of the 
whip which indicated the advancing figures of Jack and 
Janie. His vexation and disappointment were so evident 
that Jack, after an instant of hesitation, raised his hat 
and said: 
“ I beg your pardon, sir, but could we do anythingfor 
you ? You seem at a loss.” 
“At a loss?” cried the stranger, his vexation break¬ 
ing, bounds at last. “ At a loss? So I am—at a most in¬ 
fernal loss. If it had been my own fault, I could have 
stood it; but why that conductor, who knows me per¬ 
fectly well, should have let me get out instead of going 
on, is what I shall never know, never, if I live to be a 
hundred. He knows perfectly well that I live at M-, 
that I wanted to go to M-, that I never go anywhere 
else on this line. And why on earth he should have 
supposed that I wanted to get off at a miserable little 
way-station like this. I can’t conceive.” 
“ Did he put you off?” asked Janie, looking puzzled. 
“Put me off? No, of course not, but he saw me get¬ 
ting off and never had the sense to stop me. And here 
I must stay until the way-train comes along at seven 
o’clock, just because they haven’t sense enough here to 
have carriages to hire.” 
“Would that help you?” asked Jack, showing no 
signs of the amusement with which he was internally 
convulsed. 
“Help me? Of course it would,” said the stranger, 
testily. “If I could drive five miles to the next station, 
I should be in time to catch the four o’clock express 
which stops there and be home at a reasonable hour, 
instead of waiting here to see two express-trains whizz 
past me and crawling along behind them in a miserable 
way-train.” 
“ If that is all,” said Jack, consulting Janie by an in¬ 
terrogative look, and receiving a nod in reply, ‘ 1 if 
you will allow us to drive you to the station of which 
you speak, we shall be very glad. We are boarding 
near here and are in no hurry at all. Indeed, it will be 
quite a pleasant variety for us.” 
Of course, after a proper amount of hesitation, his offer 
was accepted with profuse thanks. 
“There is something curiously familiar in his face,” 
whispered Janie, as Jack helped her to her seat in the 
wagon, and Jack, who had felt the same, could only 
feel the more perplexed at her recognition of the 
fact. 
Their guest had been silent, apparently meditating, 
for a few minutes, but he surprised them now by sud¬ 
denly bursting into a shout of laughter. It was such 
hearty, genuine mirth that, after a moment’s struggle, 
first Jack and then Janie yielded to the infection. For 
a few moments the road rang with their peals of laugh¬ 
ter, though two of the three certainly had no idea at 
what they were laughing. Presently the stranger con¬ 
trolled himself with a mighty effort, and, wiping his 
eyes, said: 
“ What an old fool I am, to be sure ! Here I have 
been blaming and abusing that poor innocent conduc¬ 
tor, knowing perfectly well all the time that the whole 
thing is my own fault and nobody’s else. If it is possible 
to forget a thing, or to make a mistake, I. am the man 
for it. And even what would not be possible in that 
line for anyone else, is the easiest thing in the world 
for me. I was reading my paper, and when I had to 
get up to let the gentlemen who had the inside seat get 
out, of course I walked out after him, and never realized 
what I had done until I stood on the platform and saw 
the train whizzing away from me. Really, young gen¬ 
tleman, you have saved me from a most awkward pre¬ 
dicament, for ten to one I should have forgotten to take 
the way-train when it came along. My wife and Mabel 
would have been wild with anxiety.” 
He talked on, but Janie did not hear him, for she had 
caught her breath with a quick gasp at the name he 
had mentioned. 
“ It is the photograph that he is like, Jack,” she whis¬ 
pered, eagerly. “If you are wise you will drive him 
home.” 
“You must often forget things in the cars,” said 
Jack, whose heart had begun to beat in a curious way 
at Janie’s suggestion. 
“Forget?” said their guest, laughing. “The things 
I remember are a drop in the ocean to those I forget. I 
remember what a rating I had from Mabel a year ago 
for leaving a box of flowers in the cars—at least I sup¬ 
pose I left them there. I never knew what became of 
them. The worst of it was that her photograph was in 
it, too, and Heaven only knows whose hands it fell into 
and who has it now. It was pretty bad, I acknowledge, 
but then Mabel ought to have known better than to send 
it by me. She should know my ways by this time, if 
any body does. Mabel is my daughter, by the way, 
and my name is Lawrence, John Romeyne Lawrence, 
at your service.” 
Jack dared not trust himself to speak, but Janie was 
equal to the emergency. 
