When the conductor first—­came through the car he saw that Draxy had been crying.  “Do her good,” he thought to himself; “it always does do women good; but I’ll be bound she wouldn’t ha’ cried if I’d left her.”

Half an hour later he found her sound asleep, with her head slipping uneasily about on the back of the seat.  Half ashamed of himself, he brought a heavy coat and put it under her head for a pillow.  Seeing a supercilious and disagreeable smile on the face of a fashionable young man in the seat before Draxy, he said sharply:  “She’s come a long journey, and was put under my care.”

“I guess that’s true enough to pass muster,” he chuckled to himself as he walked away.  “If ever I’d ha’ believed a woman could make me stop this train for her!  An’, by George, without askin’ me to either!”

Draxy slept on for hours.  The winter twilight came earlier than usual, for the sky was overcast.  When she waked, the lamps were lighted, and the conductor was bending over her, saying:  “We’re most there, Miss, and I thought you’d better get steadied on your feet a little before you get off, for I don’t calculate to make a full stop.”

Draxy laughed like a little child, and put up both hands to her head as if to make sure where she was.  Then she followed the conductor to the door and stood looking out into the dim light.

The sharp signal for “down brakes,” made experienced passengers spring to their feet.  Windows opened; heads were thrust out.  What had happened to this express train?  The unaccustomed sound startled the village also.  It was an aristocratic little place, settled by wealthy men whose business was in a neighboring city.  At many a dinner-table surprised voices said:  “Why, what on earth is the down express stopping here for?  Something must have broken.”

“Some director or other to be put off,” said others; “they have it all their own way on the road.”

In the mean time Draxy Miller was walking slowly up the first street she saw, wondering what she should do next.  The conductor had almost lifted her off the train; had shaken her hand, said “God bless you, Miss,” and the train was gone, before she could be sure he heard her thank him.  “Oh, why did I not thank him more before we stopped,” thought Draxy.

“I hope she’ll get her money,” thought the conductor.  “I’d like to see the man that wouldn’t give her what she asked for.”

So the benediction and protection of good wishes, from strangers as well as from friends, floated on the very air through which Draxy walked, all unconscious of the invisible blessings.

She walked a long way before she met any one of whom she liked to ask direction.  At last she saw an elderly man standing under a lamp-post, reading a letter.  Draxy studied his face, and then stopped quietly by his side without speaking.  He looked up.

“I thought as soon as you had finished your letter, sir, I would ask you to tell me where Stephen Potter lives.”