“Oh, no, my dear! She is all right. She will sleep until we get home and then wake up as bright as a daisy.” “Ten minutes for refreshments!” shouted the guard at the window, as he climbed along on the outside of the carriage, while the train drew into the station of another large town. “Will you get out, Jennie?” inquired her father. “No papa dear, I would much rather not,” she answered. “Then take the baby while I go,” he said, carefully placing the little one on her lap within her arms. “Now, what shall I bring you, dear?” he next inquired. “A cup of tea and a biscuit, papa, nothing more,” replied Jennie, who remembered the slender purse of the curate, who could ill afford the journey to Liverpool and back with his daughter. She had ten pounds left of her own, but did not dare to offer them to her father, whose very poverty made him sensitive. She meant, however, when she should reach the parsonage, to put that little fund, through her mother’s agency, into the general household expenses. Mr. Campbell left the carriage and went across to the refreshment rooms. Jennie’s fellow passengers of the second class did not leave their seats, but took out luncheon baskets, and soon the air was full of the sound of popping ginger beer or ale or porter bottles, while bread and cheese and beef were laid out on laps covered with brown wrapping paper for a tablecloth. The woman with the babies and the woman with the bundles, who sat opposite to Jennie and seemed to be friends, drew the cork of brown stout—one holding the bottle, and the other pulling the screw with all her might. Then the mother filled a little thick glass tumbler with the foaming porter and held it to Jennie, saying kindly: “Drink it, dearie. It’ll do ’ee good; ’specially as ye’re nussing a young babe.” Jennie, touched by the kindness, smiled her sweetest and thanked her neighbor, explaining that her heart was weak and that she could not bear strong porter. “Then I hope your good man will bring ’ee some light wine,” replied the woman. “The gentleman with me is my father,” said Jennie, glad to make this explanation. “Your fey—— And the grandfeyther o’ the bairn?” exclaimed the woman, opening her eyes with astonishment. “Yes,” said Jennie. “Well, it’s wonderful! He didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Do he, now, M’riah?” she said, appealing to her companion of the bundles. “He don’t that,” replied the latter. But here the three babies became clamorous for something to eat, and the two women turned their attention to them. And though this party had been nibbling cake or candy, more or less, during the whole journey, as is too much the custom of their class, yet now they all ate as if they had fasted since breakfast. Mr. Campbell reappeared with a little tray in his hand, on which was arranged a cup of tea, a small plate of cream toast, and another plate with the wing of a roast chicken, which he placed on the vacant seat, while he relieved Jennie of her sleeping babe.