ney.

"And I've no business here. I'm an engine-burglar--that's what I am,"
she thought. "I shouldn't wonder if they could lock me up for this." And
the train was going faster and faster.

There was something in her throat that made it impossible for her to
speak. She tried twice. The men had their backs to her. They were doing
something to things that looked like taps.

Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold of the nearest sleeve. The
man turned with a start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute looking
at each other in silence. Then the silence was broken by them both.

The man said, "Here's a bloomin' go!" and Roberta burst into tears.

The other man said he was blooming well blest--or something like it--but
though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind.

"You're a naughty little gell, that's what you are," said the fireman,
and the engine-driver said:--

"Daring little piece, I call her," but they made her sit down on an iron
seat in the cab and told her to stop crying and tell them what she meant
by it.

She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing that helped her was the
thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her place--on a
real engine--really going. The children had often wondered whether any
engine-driver could be found noble enough to take them for a ride on an
engine--and now there she was. She dried her eyes and sniffed earnestly.

"Now, then," said the fireman, "out with it. What do you mean by it,
eh?"

"Oh, please," sniffed Bobbie.

"Try again," said the engine-driver, encouragingly.

Bobbie tried again.

"Please, Mr. Engineer," she said, "I did call out to you from the
line, but you didn't hear me--and I just climbed up to touch you on the
arm--quite gently I meant to do it--and then I fell into the coals--and
I am so sorry if I frightened you. Oh, don't be cross--oh, please
don't!" She sniffed again.

"We ain't so much CROSS," said the fireman, "as interested like. It
ain't every day a little gell tumbles into our coal bunker outer the
sky, is it, Bill? What did you DO it for--eh?"

"That's the point," agreed the engine-driver; "what did you do it FOR?"

Bobbie found that she had not quite stopped crying. The engine-driver
patted her on the back and said: "Here, cheer up, Mate. It ain't so bad
as all that 'ere, I'll be bound."

"I wanted," said Bobbie, much cheered to find herself addressed as
'Mate'--"I only wanted to ask you if you'd be so kind a