George Riley protested vigorously: "But I tell you she's only a little girl and she's got a baby and a big basket and I don't know how many other things and some one's just got to help her!"

With anxious headshakes Terence and Janet McFadden corroborated all George Riley said, but the gatekeeper was firm. "Only passengers this side the fence," he repeated.

So the three friends had to wait while the long train slowly disgorged. Terence stood guard on one side of the gate, George Riley on the other, while Janet pressed a tense searching face through the bars of the high division fence. The first arrivals were the dapper quick young men with new leather bags and walking-sticks who, in their eagerness to arrive, always drop off a train before it stops. After them came more men and the more agile of the women passengers. Then the general rush and crush: the fussy people laden down with parcels; old ladies struggling to protect their small handbags from the assaults of porters; distracted mothers jerking their broods hither and thither; middle-aged men murmuring to wives and daughters, "No rush! No rush! Plenty of time!"

"Maybe she missed the train!" Janet McFadden suggested tragically.

The crush subsided, the last stragglers passed through the gate, and then, just as Janet remarked gloomily, "Well, I was perfectly sure she wasn't coming!" a little girl with a baby in her arms alighted from a coach far down the track and stood where she was while the conductor piled the ground about her with boxes and parcels and baskets innumerable.

"There she is! There she is!" Janet and Terence cried out together.

The gatekeeper looked at them a little less sternly. "Well, I guess you can come in now."

Janet dashed through the gate with her arms raised high, calling out a joyful "Rosie! Rosie!" George Riley and Terence followed close on her heels, and in a moment Rosie and the baby were enveloped in a cloud of hugs and kisses.

"Oh!" Rosie gasped, "but it's nice to be back! And I'm so glad to see you all!... Here, Jarge, you take that heavy box and be awful careful. It has jelly in it and canned fruit and I made them all myself, too! Your mother taught me how.... You take the big basket, Terry. That's our clothes. And I think you can take the basket of vegetables in the other hand. Janet'll take that bundle, won't you, Janet? They's two dressed chickens in it and I plucked them myself, too. Mis' Riley showed me how. And you take the shoe-box, Janet. It's full of cookies. Hold it straight so's not to break them.... I'll take that last basket in my other hand. You can't guess what's in it, can they, Geraldine? It's Geraldine's little pussy cat! We just couldn't leave it, could we, baby? Geraldine named it herself. She named it Jarge."

"After me, I suppose," George said, and they all laughed as if this were a mighty fine joke.

"Now are we ready?" Rosie asked, making a quick count of bundles and baskets. "I'm not leaving anything, am I?"

George groaned. "I should hope not! Tell you one thing: I can't carry any more. Say, Rosie, what have you filled your jelly glasses with? Rocks?"

This was another fine joke and it carried them out of the station and all the way to the cars.

"Now watch me play the Rube," George whispered with a wink. When the conductor came for their fares, George fumbled in his pocket, counted the change laboriously, then asked for an impossible transfer. The conductor tried patiently to explain, at which George slapped him on the shoulder and roared out: "Aw, go on! I'm a railroad man myself!" At this everybody laughed and the conductor and George became friends on the spot.

At the home corner, small Jack was waiting and, before Rosie was fairly off the car, he was calling out excitedly: "Hello, Rosie! Hello! What did you bring me from the country?"

"Oh, you darling Jackie! I'm so glad to see you!" Rosie kissed him on both cheeks, then answered his question. "A little turtle! It's in a box at the bottom of the vegetable basket that Terry's carrying."

Jack danced up and down in delight. "Oh, Rosie, can't I have it now? Please!"

"No, no, Jackie, you must wait till we get home."

"Aw, Rosie, all right for you!" Jack looked at her reproachfully, then shouted out: "Come on! Come on! Let's hurry home!"

At home Mrs. O'Brien and Jamie were waiting for them with outstretched arms.

"Ah, Rosie," her mother exclaimed, with fluttering hands and streaming eyes; "I'm that glad to see you, I'm weepin'! And will ye look at wee Geraldine as fat and smilin' as a suckin' pig! Ah, Geraldine darlint, come to yir own ma!"

Jamie O'Brien, less demonstrative than his wife, patted Rosie's head gently. "It's mighty glad I am to have you back. Why, do you know, Rosie, since you've been gone there hasn't been a soul in the house to hand me a pipe of an evening!"

"You poor old Dad!" Rosie began sympathetically. She would have said more but small Jack interrupted.

"Now, Rosie, give me my turtle! You promised you would!""Of course I did," Rosie acknowledged, "and I'll get it for you right now. Here, Terry, let me have the vegetable basket." Rosie thrust her hands among the onions and cabbages and drew out a small pasteboard box generously pierced with air holes.

"Here it is, Jackie dear."

Jack pulled off the string, tore open the box, and gaped in wide-eyed delight. "Oh, Rosie, thanks! thanks! It's a beaut!" For one moment mere possession was enough, on the next came an overpowering desire to exhibit his treasure before an admiring and envious world.

"Say, Rosie, I got to run down and see Joe Slattery. I'll be back in a minute."

Mrs. O'Brien put out a detaining hand. "No, you won't be going down to see any Joe Slattery! Dinner's ready and you'll be comin' in with the rest of the family this minute. Come along, Rosie dear."

Rosie paused. "Can't we keep Janet, Ma? Is there enough?"

Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head emphatically. "Sure there's enough and, if there ain't, we'll make it enough."

"Thanks, Mis' O'Brien, but I don't believe I better stay." Janet spoke regretfully. "You know my mother ain't very well these days and I don't like to leave her alone too long.""Why, Janet!" Rosie looked at her friend in sudden concern. "Is your mother sick?"

Janet shook her head. "I don't know what's the matter with her. It seems like the hot weather and the work and the worry have been too much for her. But I'll be back, Rosie, at three o'clock for our papers. I got two new customers, didn't I, Terry? And, Rosie, what do you think? Terry gave me an extra nickel for each of them."

Janet started off and Mrs. O'Brien exclaimed: "Now, then, for dinner! All of yez!"

"See you later, Rosie," George Riley remarked, opening the door of his own room.

Mrs. O'Brien called after him excitedly: "Why, Jarge lad, where's this you're going? Aren't you sitting down with the rest of us?"

"I ain't more than had my breakfast," George explained; "and I think I better get in a little nap before I start out on my next run." He nodded to Rosie, smiled, and shut his door.

"Poor Jarge!" Mrs. O'Brien threw sympathetic eyes to heaven and sighed.

Rosie looked at her mother quickly. "Is there anything the matter with Jarge?"

"Poor fella!" Mrs. O'Brien went on in the same lugubrious tone. "He's as honest as the day and I'm sure I wish him every blessing under heaven. Never in me life have I liked a boarder as much as I like Jarge. He's no trouble at all, at all, and it was mighty kind of his mother inviting you and Geraldine to the country. No, no, Rosie, you must never make the mistake of supposing I'm not fond of Jarge!"

"Ma," Rosie begged; "tell me what's the matter!" She stopped suddenly and two little points of steel came into her blue eyes. "Is it Ellen? Has she been doing something to him again?"

Mrs. O'Brien looked grieved. "Why, Rosie, I'm surprised at you—I am that, to hear you talk that way about your poor sister Ellen. And such a bit of news as I've got about Ellen, too! Sit down now and, when I serve you, I'll tell you."

There was no hurrying Mrs. O'Brien and Rosie, knowing this, said no more. At heart she gave a little sigh. It was as if a shadow were overcasting the bright joy of her home-coming. She had arrived so full of her own happiness that she had failed to see any evidence of the care and worry which, she realized now, had plainly stamped the faces of her two dearest friends. Poor Janet McFadden! For one reason or another it had always been poor Janet. And now, apparently, it was to be poor George Riley as well.