“No, sir,” answered ’Lena, the rich blood dyeing her cheek at being addressed by a stranger.

It was the first time any one had ever said “sir” to the boy, and now feeling quite like patronizing the little girl, he continued:  “I believe old people generally are timid when they enter the cars for the first time.”

Nothing from ’Lena except a slight straightening up of her body, and a smoothing down of her dress, but the ice was broken, and erelong she and her companion were conversing as familiarly as if they had known each other for years.  Still the boy was not inquisitive—­he did not ask her name, or where she was going, though he told her that his home was in Louisville, and that at Albany he was to take the boat for New York, where his mother was stopping with some friends.  He also told her that the gentleman near the door, with dark eyes and whiskers, was his father.

Glancing toward the person indicated, ’Lena saw that it was the same gentleman who, all the afternoon, had been talking with her uncle.  He was noble looking, and she felt glad that he was the father of the boy—­he was just such a man, she fancied, as ought to be his father—­just such a man as she could wish her father to be—­and then ’Lena felt glad that the youth had asked her nothing concerning her parentage, for, though her grandmother had seldom mentioned her father in her presence, there were others ready and willing to inform her that he was a villain, who broke her mother’s heart.

When they reached Albany, the boy rose, and offering his hand to ’Lena, said “I suppose I must bid you good-bye, but I’d like right well to go farther with you.”

At this moment the stranger gentleman came up, and on seeing how his son was occupied, said smilingly, “So-ho!  Durward, you always manage to make some lady acquaintance.”

“Yes, father,” returned the boy called Durward, “but not always one like this.  Isn’t she pretty,” he added in a whisper.

The stranger’s eyes fell upon ’Lena’s face, and for a moment, as if by some strange fascination, seemed riveted there; but the crowd pressed him forward, and ’Lena only heard him reply to his son, “Yes, Durward, very pretty; but hurry, or we shall lose the boat.”

The next moment they were gone.  Leaning from the window, ’Lena tried to catch another glimpse of him, but in vain.  He was gone—­she would never see him again, she thought; and then she fell into a reverie concerning his home, his mother, his sisters, if he had any, and finally ended by wishing that she were his sister, and the daughter of his father.  While she was thus pondering, her grandmother, also, was busy, and when ’Lena looked round for her she was gone.  Stepping from the car, ’Lena espied her in the distance, standing by her uncle and anxiously watching for the appearance of her “great trunk, little trunk, band-box, and bag.”  Each of these articles was forthcoming, and in a few moments they were on the ferry-boat crossing the blue waters of the Hudson, Mrs. Nichols declaring that “if she’d known it wasn’t a bridge she was steppin’ onto, she’d be bound they wouldn’t have got her on in one while.”