“Are you going from home for the first time?” inquired the lady.

“I have no home,” said Herbert.  “My father and mother are both dead.”

“Excuse me,” said the lady, gently.  “I am sorry to have touched upon a subject which must awaken sorrowful recollections.  My father’s name is Carroll.  Father, you have heard that your young escort is Mr. Herbert Mason.”

The old gentleman extended his hand, which Herbert took respectfully.

“I am afraid you will find me a troublesome charge,” he said.  “Since I have become blind I have been compelled to tax the kindness of others.”

“The journey will be pleasanter to me,” said Herbert, politely, “than if I were alone.”

Mr. Carroll was evidently pleased with this remark, for he turned toward Herbert with increased interest.

“You can imagine how much more so it will be to me,” he said.  “I have not your resources for beguiling the tedium of the way.  I would give all my possessions gladly, for your young eyes.  All journeys are alike to me now, since, however interesting the scenery, it is a blank to me.”

“That is indeed a privation, sir.”

“Especially in the journey we are about to take.  The Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, as it is called, runs through a romantic and charming country, and affords views at once bold and beautiful.  Have you ever traveled over the road?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you will have all the pleasure of a first discovery.  Before I became blind, before, indeed, the railway was located, I became, as a young man, familiar with this whole section of country, so that I have, at least, the remembrance of it.  I am obliged now to live upon my memory.”

“You say you have never been over this railroad,” said the lady.  “Have you ever been to the East?”

“No, madam, I have always lived in the State of Ohio.”

“And you are now going to Philadelphia?” she inquired.

“I am going to New York,” said Herbert.

“Indeed!  Is it on a visit?”

“No, madam, I am expecting to live there; that is, if I can make a living.”

“Are you dependent, then, upon your own exertions for support?”

“Yes, madam.”

“You seem very young for such a responsibility.”

“I am fourteen.”

“I thought you a year older.  My Oscar is fourteen, and I am afraid he would make a poor hand at supporting himself.  What do you think, father?”

“I think you are right, my dear.  Oscar has not been placed in circumstances to develop his self-reliance.”

“No; that probably has something to do with it.  But, Herbert, if you will permit me to call you so, do you not look forward to the future with apprehension?”

“No, madam,” said Herbert.  “I am not afraid but that I shall be able to get along somehow.  I think I shall find friends, and I am willing to work.”

“That is the spirit that leads to success,” said the old gentleman, approvingly.  “Work comes to willing hands.  I think you will succeed.”