"They did ought to put on more carriages, so nigh to August Bank Holiday," said Mr. Binks. "We're close on Silversands now--you can see it there, over at t'other side of the bay--so you won't be long waitin' of your tea. You'll be rare and glad to get some, I take it, if you feel like me." Isobel thought it was the longest and hottest journey she ever remembered; but, like most things, it at length came to a close, and after several halts and tiresome waitings on the line the heavy train crawled into Silversands. It was a little wayside station, with a gay garden running alongside the platform, and the name "Silversands" elaborately done out in white stones upon a green bank. A group of Scotch firs gave a pleasant shade and a suggestion of country woods; the sea and the sands were just visible over a tall hedge of flowering tamarisk, the meadows were full of buttercups, while cornfields, beginning already to yellow with ripening crops, and gay with scarlet poppies, made a refreshing sight to dusty travellers. "Here we are, mother!" cried Isobel, with delight. "This is really Silversands at last! Oh, look at the poppies among the corn! Aren't they lovely!" "Ay, it's Silversands, sure enough," said Mr. Binks, opening the carriage door and descending with the caution his bulk demanded. "Main glad I am to see it again, too. Take care, honey! Let me help you down, and your ma too. You're welcome, marm, I'm sure, to anything as I may have done for you; and if you and missy here is takin' a walk some day towards 'the balk,' just ask for Binks of the White Coppice, and my missus 'ull make you a cup of tea any time as you likes to call. Good-day to you!" And he moved away down the platform with the satisfied air of one who again finds his foot on his native heath. Silversands seemed also to be the destination of the two travellers in whom Isobel had taken such an interest, as they got out of the train with much apparent relief, and were greeted by quite a number of enthusiastic and smartly-dressed friends who had come to the station to meet them. "We've had the most _terrible_ journey!" Isobel overheard the little girl saying. "We were obliged to go in a third-class carriage with the rudest and dirtiest people! I'm sure I'm black all over. Oh, I'm _so_ glad to have got here at last!" She retailed her experiences to a sympathetic audience, while her mother, who, it appeared, had lost a handbag, insisted upon calling the station-master and giving a full description of both its labels and contents; and until their numerous boxes and portmanteaus had been collected and disposed on a carriage, and they and their friends had finally passed through the gate at the bottom of the platform, it was quite impossible for Mrs. Stewart to secure the services of the solitary porter. She managed at last, however, to gather together her modest luggage, and leaving it to follow upon a hand-cart, set out with Isobel to walk to the lodgings which she had engaged.