em
be near each other. Denny put her hand into the dormice's cage when
Fritz wasn't looking, and she poked out Tim, who was just beginning to
come awake for the night, and she as nearly as _could_ be got his tail
pulled off, and then, when Fritz caught her, she screamed."

"Fritz snipped my hand in the little door of the cage," sobbed Denny.
"And Celia always takes Fritz's part."

Celia was beginning; to "answer back," when auntie stopped her by a
look--the children were sometimes rather afraid of auntie's "looks."

"Dear me, young people," said grandfather from his end of the carriage,
"you might be peaceable for five minutes, and then we shall be in
London, and you shall have a good tea before we go on again."

The children all grew quiet. They were glad to hear of tea, and they
were a little ashamed of themselves. Auntie moved over to their end of
the carriage.

"Him would like some tea too, p'ease," said Baby, as she passed him, and
auntie patted his head.

"They are all tired, I suppose," said mother; "but it really is too
silly, the way they quarrel about nothing."

"Auntie," said Celia softly, "I think it was partly my fault. Denny and
Fritz asked me to tell them a story, and I wouldn't. It would have kept
them quiet."

"Well, never mind now," said auntie. "You must all try and be very good
to-morrow. This is only the first day, you know. You can't be expected
to be very clever travellers yet. And the very first lesson to learn in
travelling is--do you know what?"

"Not to lose your things?" said Celia.

"To be ready in time?" said Fritz.

"To sit still in the railway?" said Denny, rather meekly.

"All those are very good things," said auntie; "but they're not _the_
thing I was thinking of. It was _to keep your temper_."

The children got rather red, but I don't think any one noticed, for
already the train was slackening, and in another minute or two they all
got out and were standing together on the bustling platform, dimly
lighted up by the gas lamps, which looked yellow and strange in the
foggy air of a London November evening.

"Is zit London?" said Baby, and when Celia said "yes," he added rather
mournfully, "Him doesn't sink London's pitty at all."

[Illustration: Poor little boys, for after all, Fritz himself wasn't
very big! They stood together hand in hand on the station platform,
looking, and feeling, rather desolate.--P. 84.]

Poor little boys, for, after all, Fritz himself wa