her hesitatingly. "Can I
carry him?"

"The train would frighten him so he might never sing any more," said Mrs.
Horton. "No, Aunt Bessie is going to keep him for us till we come back."

"Well, let's go now," urged Sunny. "Why can't we go this minute? Let's,
Mother."

"And have Daddy come home to dinner to-night and find us gone?" said
Mother reproachfully. "Why, Sunny!"

"Well--then perhaps we'd better wait," admitted Sunny Boy. "But one whole
night's an awful long time, isn't it?"

CHAPTER IV

OFF FOR BROOKSIDE

Perhaps the most fun of going on a journey is the fun of starting.

Sunny Boy began to get excited the moment he opened his eyes the next
morning, and if he had had his way, they wouldn't have bothered with such
an every-day affair as breakfast. One could eat breakfast any morning,
but a trip on the train to one's grandfather's farm was much more
important.

However, Daddy explained that all experienced travelers ate a good
breakfast before they set out, and as Sunny Boy wanted above all things
to do as real travelers did, he consented to sit down and be interested
for a few moments in his blue oatmeal bowl and its contents.

"You look so nice, Mother," he told Mrs. Horton suddenly.

"So do you," she assured him, smiling. "I think it must be because we are
both wearing our new blue serge suits."

"Remember, you're going to take care of my girl," warned Daddy. "Don't
let her get too tired, and try to make her comfortable, and don't let any
one or anything bother her."

Sunny Boy gravely promised to look after Mother. He felt very proud that
Daddy trusted him to take care of her on their first long journey
together, and he resolved to wait on her all he could and to save her
every possible step.

Harriet, who was not going with them, but who was going to help Aunt
Bessie keep house until they came back, was bustling about, pulling down
shades and closing and locking doors. The canary had gone, and Sunny Boy
had a funny feeling that their house was going on a journey, too. In his
trotting around after Harriet, while Mother was telephoning a last
good-by to some friend, he found a square white box on the parlor table,
neatly tied with red string--one of that mysterious kind that makes your
fingers fairly itch to untie the string and look inside. Sunny Boy went
in search of Mother.

"Could I open it?" he asked coaxingly. "I'll tie it right up again,
Mother. Maybe you have forgotten what i