THE SECOND MRS TILLOTSEN BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."

BOOK II. CHAPTER I. "THE CAPTAIN'S" NIECES.

ON the platform of the Waterloo station,
where the trains were screaming in and screaming
out, and where the company would presently
stream on in sudden gushes, an elderly gentleman,
that leaned on a stick and limped a little as he
walked, was waiting for a particular train to
come in. He was thin and stooped, had a very
high Roman nose and well curled brown
whiskers, which gave him an almost warlike
expression; but his blue eyes, with which he
looked to the right and to the left, were the
softest and the gentlest in the world. They fell
on the al fresco bookseller who was doing so large
an open-air business in gamboge-covered books,
and straps, and railway rugs, and opera-glasses,
and the spare moments of whose life seemed to
be employed in cutting leaves. The soft eye fell
on this overworked official, and he limped up to
him to ask for information.

"Just out, sir. Quite new." the bookseller
said, just touching with his papers an orange-
coloured book, as clean and fresh as a newly
baked loaf. It was, indeed, not an hour from
its own oven.

The lame gentleman shook his head and smiled.
"If you printed a little larger," he said, taking
it up, "or, I suppose, if I were twenty years
younger—-"

"Well, sir, there's better paper and print now
than there used to be," the other went on,
cutting desperately. "We sell 'em by the bushel."

"And now let us see," said the gentleman,
taking up a book, putting on a pair of glasses
very low on his nose, and looking sideways at it.
"What is all this about? Thaddeus of Warsaw.
God bless me! I am very glad of that—very.
A really fine work."

"A classic, sir," said the bookseller, who had
learned to read his customers like his books.
"They don't write such things now-a-days."

"I declare I must have Thaddeus," said the
gentleman, taking out his purse. "And I hope,
sir, you sell a great many copies. I read it years
ago, and was delighted with it. Two shillings!
God bless me, how cheaply they bring out these
things! How can they do it and keep themselves?
There. Thank you." And he moved
away, looked through the double glass still on
his nose down at the gorgeously chromatic
portrait of Thaddeus which was on the back of
his yellow book. The bookseller looked after
him with some interest, as he saw the deep
respect of the gentleman for the story, and his
sincere admiration for the outside picture.

He ran after him. "Let me tie it up for you,
sir, and put it in paper."

The gentleman thanked him him warmly, and then
put Thaddeus safely in his pocket.

He was presently leaning on his stick, talking
to a conversational porter, who was pointing
here and there, and over to this building and
that. He was telling about their professional
life, and how their rounds of duty were managed,
and how 'ard the work was, and how " 'arder
paid." That led on into the duty of working
signals, which led again to their curious
mechanism.

"Most interesting and curious!" said the
gentleman, in pleased wonder. "And tell me,
now, what sort of lighthouse that is up there?
The poor people seem to me to live up there
altogether."

"If you step this way," the man said, "I'll show
you the whole thing, sir. Nobody ain't allowed to
get down on the line," he added, with a great air of
suspicion and mystery, "but I'll manage it. The
superintendent's at his dinner." And in a very
short time the gentleman was limping quietly up
some steep steps, and was actually up in the glass
roost where men pull at iron handles all day and
night long. There a chair had been rubbed
clean; and with his chin on the top of his stick
he was presently in free and pleasant conversation
with the chief of that little establishment
and the whole subordination. When he went
away, it was agreed in that little community
that he was "a nice friendly sort of gentleman
as you could ask to meet."

It will have been seen, from these two trifling
little incidents, that this lame gentleman was one
of the few who have the delightful art of
attracting the common passers on the highway of life
without any trouble, who get a kindly nod even
if they cannot stop, and who have that surprisingly
useful gift of making a friend of the man
with whom they stand under an archway during