She followed the conductor down the aisle, stagger-

ing from side to side as the train lurched to a stop. The

scrubbed-looking youth blushed scarlet as he heaved

her trunk and carpetbag onto the platform.

“I do apologize, miss!” He extended a hand to help

her descend the steep metal stair. “It’s only that I didn’t

want you to miss your stop—”

“And as you can see, I have not.” She nodded her

thanks and then shook her head, as if to say, “How

ridiculous, meow! To think I would travel all this way

only to miss my stop, meow meow! ” But in the end she

offered him a tiny smile, and this was enough to make

the young man swell with pride at the fine service he

had provided that day.

In fact, the competence and dedication of the young

conductor would soon come to the attention of his

superiors, who would waste no time offering the stal-

wart fellow a promotion. Over the years, he would work

his way up through the ranks and eventually become

Chief Locomotive Officer, a position that would ren-

der him modestly well-to-do and a perfectly well-liked

chap to all who knew him.

But this happy ending, like so many others, was

still far off in the future. For now, the conductor sim-

ply watched through the window as the train pulled

away. He saw how the rapidly receding Miss Lumley

stood unmoving among the great puffs of steam, the

blood-curdling scream of the wheels singing high

over the melancholy tenor of the train whistle and the

deep bass roar of the engine. Like the conductor, at

that moment Miss Lumley had no way of predicting

whether her life would turn out happily or in some

other, less desirable way.

Luckily, she knew better than to brood about

such things. Although only fifteen years old, she was

a recent graduate of the Swanburne Academy for

Poor Bright Females. During her years at that well-

regarded school, Miss Lumley had been taught a

great deal, of both an academic and a philosophical

nature. At the heart of her education were the say-

ings of Agatha Swanburne, the school’s founder and

a woman of unparalleled common sense (she was, as

you have already guessed, the very wise woman pre-

viously mentioned). These pithy kernels of truth were

not unlike those you might find inside the fortune

cookies at a Chinese restaurant—although you can be

sure that neither Agatha Swanburne nor Miss Lumley

had ever set foot in such an establishment.

Agatha Swanburne, Miss Lumley felt quite sure,

would not succumb to nervous fits simply because she