ked
him up. "I do like moving! I wish we moved once a month."

Mother laughed.

"I don't!" she said. "Good night, Peterkin."

As she turned away Roberta saw her face. She never forgot it.

"Oh, Mother," she whispered all to herself as she got into bed, "how
brave you are! How I love you! Fancy being brave enough to laugh when
you're feeling like THAT!"

Next day boxes were filled, and boxes and more boxes; and then late in
the afternoon a cab came to take them to the station.

Aunt Emma saw them off. They felt that THEY were seeing HER off, and
they were glad of it.

"But, oh, those poor little foreign children that she's going to
governess!" whispered Phyllis. "I wouldn't be them for anything!"

At first they enjoyed looking out of the window, but when it grew dusk
they grew sleepier and sleepier, and no one knew how long they had been
in the train when they were roused by Mother's shaking them gently and
saying:--

"Wake up, dears. We're there."

They woke up, cold and melancholy, and stood shivering on the draughty
platform while the baggage was taken out of the train. Then the engine,
puffing and blowing, set to work again, and dragged the train away. The
children watched the tail-lights of the guard's van disappear into the
darkness.

This was the first train the children saw on that railway which was in
time to become so very dear to them. They did not guess then how they
would grow to love the railway, and how soon it would become the centre
of their new life, nor what wonders and changes it would bring to them.
They only shivered and sneezed and hoped the walk to the new house would
not be long. Peter's nose was colder than he ever remembered it to have
been before. Roberta's hat was crooked, and the elastic seemed tighter
than usual. Phyllis's shoe-laces had come undone.

"Come," said Mother, "we've got to walk. There aren't any cabs here."

The walk was dark and muddy. The children stumbled a little on the rough
road, and once Phyllis absently fell into a puddle, and was picked up
damp and unhappy. There were no gas-lamps on the road, and the road was
uphill. The cart went at a foot's pace, and they followed the gritty
crunch of its wheels. As their eyes got used to the darkness, they could
see the mound of boxes swaying dimly in front of them.

A long gate had to be opened for the cart to pass through, and after
that the road seemed to go across fields--and now it went down hill.
Presently a