“Well, I will let you take that side of that bag and this bundle—­no; that one.  Now, don’t run away from me.”

“No; I will promise not,” said Keith, laughing; and relieved of that much of her burden, the old lady stepped out more briskly than she had been doing.  When they finally reached a car, the seats were nearly all filled.  There was one, however, beside a young woman at the far end, and this Keith offered to the old lady, who, as he stowed her baggage close about her, made him count the pieces carefully.  Finding the tale correct, she thanked him with more cordiality than she had shown before, and Keith withdrew to secure a seat for himself.  As, however, the car was full, he stood up in the rear of the coach, waiting until some passengers might alight at a way-station.  The first seat that became vacant was one immediately behind the old lady, who had now fallen into a cheerful conversation with the young woman beside her.

“What do you do when strangers offer to take your bags?” Keith heard her asking as he seated himself.

“Why, I don’t know; they don’t often ask.  I never let them do it,” said the young woman, firmly.

“A wise rule, too.  I have heard that that is the way nowadays that they rob women travelling alone.  I had a young man insist on taking my bag back there; but I am very suspicious of these civil young men.”  She leaned over and counted her parcels again.  Keith could not help laughing to himself.  As she sat up she happened to glance around, and he caught her eye.  He saw her clutch her companion and whisper to her, at which the latter glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look that was almost a stare.  Then the two conferred together, while Keith chuckled with amusement.  What they were saying, had Keith heard it, would have amused him still more than the other.

“There he is now, right behind us,” whispered the old lady.

“Why, he doesn’t look like a robber.”

“They never do.  I have heard they never do.  They are the most dangerous kind.  Of course, a robber who looked it would be arrested on sight.”

“But he is very good-looking,” insisted the younger woman, who had, in the meantime, taken a second glance at Keith, who pretended to be immersed in a book.

“Well, so much the worse.  They are the very worst kind.  Never trust a good-looking young stranger, my dear.  They may be all right in romances, but never in life.”

As her companion did not altogether appear to take this view, the old lady half turned presently, and taking a long look down the other side of the car, to disarm Keith of any suspicion that she might be looking at him, finally let her eyes rest on his face, quite accidentally, as it were.  A moment later she was whispering to her companion.

“I am sure he is watching us.  I am going to ask you to stick close beside me when we get to New York until I find a hackney-coach.”