Winona waved wildly now, being lost to all decorum; waved to the crowded platform and then to the cloud of heads at the window above her.
From this window a hand reached down to her--a lean, hard, brown hand--and the shy, smiling eyes of the boy who reached it sought hers in something like appeal.

Winona clutched the hand and gripped it as she had never gripped a human hand before.
"Good-bye, sister!" said the boy, and Winona went a dozen steps with the train, still grasping the hand.
"Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye--all of you!" she called, and was holding the hand with both her own when the train gathered speed and took it from her grasp.
She stood then watching other windows thronged with young heads as the train bore them on; she still waved and was waved at.

Faint strains of the resumed chorus drifted back to her.

Her face was hurting with a set smile.
She stumbled back across the platform, avoiding other groups who had cheered the passing train, and found sanctuary by a baggage truck loaded with crates of live chickens.

Here she wept unnoticed, and wondered why she was weeping.