“Anna Mary. I was a twin, and they named me twin sister the same name, only the other way about: she was Mary Anna,” replied the maid. “How interesting!” cried Beth. “It’s not a long ride to Boston, is it? Not half as long as it sounds when you say you’re going there.” “And a good thing it isn’t, for there’s no Pullman car on this train, and it’s tiresome,” returned Anna Mary. Beth subsided. She did not know what a Pullman car was; it oppressed her to know that Anna Mary was finding this delightful trip tiresome. They arrived in Boston early. Anna Mary took Beth for a light lunch in the station restaurant, explaining that they would have a good dinner on the train to New York. But the lightness of Beth’s lunch proved weighted by her healthy appetite; she ate an excellent lunch, though Anna Mary condemned everything they had, scornfully. They crossed the city to the other station from which they were to start for New York. Anna Mary bought Beth’s ticket and two seats in the Pullman car, and looked after Beth’s trunk competently. As soon as the express for New York was made up Beth and Anna Mary boarded it. Beth followed her tall guide through the vestibule entrance to a car like nothing in her previous limited experience of travel. All inlaid in various beautiful woods was this car, fitted with heavy shades, hung with curtains at its wide plate glass windows. It was carpeted in soundless velvet carpeting and furnished with great swinging chairs, upholstered in green velvet. Velvet cushions waited tired travelers’ feet before willow chairs, velvet cushioned also, which sat at the ends of this car, and long, narrow mirrors between the windows gave back the smiles in a pair of happy eyes to Beth as she followed the colored porter down the aisle. He preceded them, carrying Anna Mary’s coat which she had promptly handed him, and led the way to the seats whose numbers she gave him, recorded on the checks which she had purchased in the station. Anna Mary had increased in awfulness since she had stepped on the lowest step of the car. The porter eagerly established her in her chair, hung up her coat, and seemed relieved that she expressed herself satisfied with the location of her chairs. Beth climbed into her own great chair; it was only too comfortable; she was almost lost in its hollow, and its depth of seat prevented her feet from reaching the floor. But the observant porter quickly brought a velvet cushion for both Anna Mary and Beth, and the little girl settled back into luxury that showed her why Anna Mary had called the car in which they had begun their journey “tiresome.”