even guess the
big business that they now saw spread out before them.

They had spent all their lives thus far--Alice was twelve and Mary Jane
going on six--in a small city of the Middle West and though they had had a
fine summer in the country visiting grandma and grandpa and had only the
winter before taken a beautiful trip through Florida, they had never been
to a great city. And now they were not going to visit or to take a trip.
They were going to live there. The great big city of Chicago was to be
their home.

The pretty little house they had loved so well was sold. The furniture and
books and dolls and clothes were all packed and loaded on a freight car to
follow them to the city and all the dear friends had been given a
farewell. Mary Jane had loved the excitement and muss of packing; the
great boxes and the masses of crinkly excelsior and the workmen around who
always had time for a pleasant joke with an interested little girl. But
when it came time to say good-by to Doris and to her much loved
kindergarten and to all the boys and girls in school and "on her block,"
going away wasn't so funny. In fact, Mary Jane felt a queer and
troublesome lump in her throat most of the morning when the good-bys were
said.

But the ride on the train (and how Mary Jane did love to ride on the
train); and the nice luncheon on the diner (and how Mary Jane did _adore_
eating on a diner--hashed brown potatoes, a whole order by herself and ice
cream and everything!); and then father's nice talk about all the fun they
were going to have, made the lump vanish and in its place there developed
an eager desire to see the new city and to begin all the promised fun. It
was then that Mr. Merrill showed them the big map of the city and pointed
out the part of the city where they would likely live.

As the girls watched, the great factories and foundries slipped away into
the distance, and in their place the girls could see houses and occasional
stores and here and there a station, past which their train dashed as
though it wasn't looking for stations to-day, thank you.

"Don't we stop anywhere?" asked Mary Jane after she had counted three of
these little stations.

"Those are suburban stations," explained Mr. Merrill, "and a big through
train like ours hasn't time to stop at every one. Pretty soon another
train will come along and stop at each one of those we are now passing so
don't you worry about folks getting left. _This_ train we