Royal Ainsley thought the woman did not hear his question, for she did not answer, and he repeated, in his suave, winning way:

"Could I trouble you to hold the little one a few moments, while I enjoy a smoke in the car ahead?"

Widow Jones answered readily enough:

"To be sure I will take care of the little one, sir. Go right along and enjoy your cigar. I know just how a man feels when he is deprived of a smoke. My husband had to have his pipe every night after his supper, just as sure as the sun went down. If he missed it, he was fairly beside himself—like a fish out of water."

It suddenly occurred to Royal Ainsley that it wouldn't be a bad idea to know more about this woman.

"Do you live near here?" he asked.

"Just three stations above—near Larchmont village. We won't reach there for nearly three-quarters of an hour, so that need not trouble you, sir. I take it that you are a widower, sir," she went on, before he could rise from his seat.

"Yes," he answered, shortly, and with considerable impatience.

"It's too bad!" chimed in Samantha—"and to be left with such a young baby, too. It's too bad that you didn't get a nurse for her, unless you are taking her to some of your folks."

"I have no relatives," he answered. "I am going to New York for the express purpose of finding some one to take care of the child."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Widow Jones. "How strange that you should come across me! Why, do you know, I used to take little ones in occasionally, and keep them for their fathers until they were old enough to get about. Before you look further, sir—although I don't like to recommend myself—I'd like to have you stop off at Larchmont and inquire all about me. There isn't a man, woman, or child for miles around but can tell you about me."

"Why, it is indeed a piece of good luck that I should have come across you, madame!" declared Royal Ainsley. "We may be able to come to terms here and now."

"Don't ask too much, ma," whispered Samantha, under her breath.

"You can set your own price," said Royal Ainsley, in an off-hand manner.

"Oh, I will leave that entirely to you, sir," said the widow. "I'll take the baby and care for her, and you can come and see her whenever you like. I'll leave the pay entirely to you. That's fair enough, sir, isn't it?"

"You are entirely too magnanimous," he declared. "By the way, here's a ten-dollar note to start with. That's the only bill I have, save those of very large denomination. In the course of a few weeks I will make permanent arrangements with you."

"But surely you are going to stop off at Larchmont, sir, and see where I live. I don't expect that you will trust a dear little baby like this to a stranger. You will most likely want a recommendation."

"Your face is certainly recommendation enough, my good woman," he declared. "Nevertheless, I shall, of course, stop off with you."

He rose with a bow.

"Remember, sir," chimed in Samantha, "that part of the train switches off just a few miles below there. If you don't look out, you'll be taken on to New York."

"I must look out for that," he said. "I had certainly intended to take a little nap after my smoke. I haven't closed my eyes for two nights; the baby was not feeling well. Your warning will put me on my guard, at all events."

Again he bowed, and in an instant he had disappeared.

"I wonder what his name is," said Samantha. "You forgot to ask him, ma."

"So I did, to be sure. But it's easy finding that out."

Further conversation was stopped by the sudden waking up of the pretty dark-eyed babe; but a little milk from the bottle and a few soothing words soon succeeded in quieting her.

"We are almost at the switch," said Samantha. "Ought not somebody go into the smoking-car and inform the gentleman of it?"

"Why, certainly not. It's likely he knows of it. He was told of it, and it's likely some one will inform him. You had better look after your boxes and bundles. Be sure to pick up the bag of candy, the ginger-snaps, the bunch of bachelor buttons, the rosemary, my shawl, and your new pair of shoes."

"If I have to hold this baby and pick up my dress, it will be as much as I can do. But I'm quite sure the gentleman will come and take care of the baby himself," added Samantha, wistfully.

The conductor called out the station. It was the busiest junction in the northern part of Virginia. Two trains met and passed each other here, while still another was side-tracked, waiting for the right of way. There was always a rush of people at the station, and consequently confusion and noise. Widow Jones and Samantha stepped from the car to the platform.

"We ought to have waited," declared the girl. "See, we have missed him, as I told you we would. I had better run back and see if he's there. He's probably going on to New York. But he will be sure to see us, no matter what car he is in."

A moment more, and the two trains moved on. Even Widow Jones was now thoroughly alarmed. What her daughter had feared had taken place. The young man had certainly missed them.

"Overcome with fatigue, he probably fell asleep in the smoking-car, in spite of himself," said Samantha.

"Well, anyhow he knows your name and address, mother. He will be sure to telegraph back to us at Larchmont."

Still, Widow Jones, who held the baby close in her arms, looked troubled.