The next day Peter turned up in the park about four, and had a ride--with Watts. The day after that, he was there a little earlier, and had a ride--with the groom. The day following he had another ride--with the groom. Peter thought they were very wonderful rides. Some one told him a great many interesting things. About some one's European life, some one's thoughts, some one's hopes, and some one's feelings. Some one really wanted a friend to pour it all out to, and Peter listened well, and encouraged well.

"He doesn't laugh at me, as papa does," some one told herself, "and so it's much easier to tell him. And he shows that he really is interested.

Oh, I always said he and I should be good friends, and we are going to be."

This put some one in a very nice frame of mind, and Peter thought he had never met such a wonderful combination of frankness, of confluence, and yet of a certain girlish shyness and timidity. Some one would tell him something, and then appeal to him, if he didn't think that was so? Peter generally thought it was. Some one did not drop her little touch of coquetry, for that was ingrain, as it is in most pretty girls. But it was the most harmless kind of coquetry imaginable. Someone was not thinking at all of winning men's hearts. That might come later. At present all she wanted was that they should think her pretty, and delightful, so that--that they should want to be friend.

When Peter joined Watts and Leonore, however, on the fourth day, there was a noticeable change in Leonore's manner to him. He did not get any welcome except a formal "Good-afternoon," and for ten minutes Watts and he had to sustain the conversation by firing remarks at each other past a very silent intermediary. Peter had no idea what was wrong, but when he found that she did not mollify at the end of that time, he said to her;

"What is the matter?"

"Matter with what?" asked Leonore, calmly.

"With you."

"Nothing."

"I shan't take that for an answer. Remember, we have sworn to be friends."

"Friends come to see each other."

Peter felt relieved; and smiled, "They do," he said, "when they can."

"No, they don't, sometimes," said Leonore severely. Then she unbent a little. "Why haven't you been to see us? You've had a full week."

"Yes," said Peter, "I have had a very full week."

"Are you going to call on us, Mr. Stirling?"

"To whom are you talking?"

"To you."

"My name's Peter."

"That depends. Are you going to call on us?"

"That is my hope and wish."

Leonore unbent a little more. "If you are," she said, "I wish you would do it soon, because mamma said to-day she thought of asking you to my birthday dinner next Tuesday, but I said you oughtn't to be asked till you had called."

"Did you know that bribery is unlawful?"

"Are you going to call?"

"Of course I am."

"That's better. When?"

"What evening are you to be at home?"

"To-morrow," said Leonore, beginning to curl up the corners of her mouth.

"Well," said Peter, "I wish you had said this evening, because that's nearer, but to-morrow isn't so far away."

"That's right. Now we'll be friends again."

"I hope so."

"Are you willing to be good friends--not make believe, or half friends, but--real friends?"

"Absolutely."

"Don't you think friends should tell each other everything?"

"Yes." Peter was quite willing, even anxious, that Leonore should tell him everything.

"You are quite sure?"

"Yes."

"Then," said Leonore, "tell me about the way you got that sword."

Watts laughed. "She's been asking every one she's met about that. Do tell her, just for my sake."

"I've told you already."

"Not the way I want it. I know you didn't try to make it interesting.

Some of the people remembered there was something very fine, but I haven't found anybody yet who could really tell it to me. Please tell about it nicely, Peter." Leonore was looking at Peter with the most pleading of looks.

"It was during the great railroad strike. The Erie had brought some men up from New York to fill the strikers' places. The new hands were lodged in freight cars, when off work, for it wasn't safe for them to pa.s.s outside the guard lines of soldiers. Some of the strikers applied for work, and were reinstated. They only did it to get inside our lines. At night, when the subst.i.tutes in the cars were fast asleep, tired out with the double work they had done, the strikers locked the car-doors. They pulled the two cars into a shed full of freight, broke open a petroleum tank, and with it wet the cars and some others loaded with jute. They set fire to the cars and barricaded the shed doors. Of course we didn't know till the flames burst through the roof of the shed, when by the light, one of the superintendents found the bunk cars gone. The fire-department was useless, for the strikers two days before, had cut all the hose. So we were ordered up to get the cars out. Some strikers had concealed themselves in buildings where they could overlook the shed, and while we were working at the door, they kept firing on us. We were in the light of the blazing shed, and they were in the dark, which gave them a big advantage over us, and we couldn't spare the time to attend to them. We tore up some rails and with them smashed in the door.

The men in the cars were screaming, so we knew which to take, and fortunately they were the nearest to the door. We took our muskets--for the frames of the cars were blazing, and the metal part too hot to touch--and fixing bayonets, drove them into the woodwork and so pushed the cars out. When we were outside, we used the rails again, to smash an opening in the ends of the cars which were burning the least. We got the men out unharmed, but pretty badly frightened."

"And were you not hurt?"

"We had eight wounded and a good many badly burned."

"And you?"

"I had my share of the burn."

"I wish you would tell me what you did--not what the others did."

Peter would have told her anything while she looked like that at him.

"I was in command at that point. I merely directed things, except taking up the rails. I happened to know how to get a rail up quickly, without waiting to unscrew the bolts. I had read it, years before, in a book on railroad construction. I didn't think that paragraph would ever help me to save forty lives--for five minutes' delay would have been fatal. The inside of the shed was one sheet of flame. After we broke the door down, I only stood and superintended the moving of the cars. The men did the real work."

"But you said the inside of the shed was a sheet of flame."