"You poor little dears!" she said, rushing to the children, "come with me." And, taking the youngest child by the hand, she hurried to the rear steps of the car, with the others close behind, while Dixie, who appeared to know what was in store, walked close beside her knee, as much as to say, "Don't leave me out." As the train stood on an embankment, the step was too high for her to climb up, so I offered to put the children up on the top step for her. Then came the difficulty of her getting up herself. She called the porter, but the door was shut and there was no answer. "Let me help you up, too," I said. "Here, you can reach the rail, and step in my hand and spring up. I can help you perfectly well--as though you were mounting a horse," I added, seeing her hesitate. And, without giving her time to think, I stooped and lifted her to the step. As she sprang up, the door opened, and a portly lady, richly dressed and with several diamond rings on, came out on the platform. She gazed on the little group with astonishment. "Why, Eleanor, what is this? Who are these?" "They are some poor children, Aunt, who have had no breakfast, and I am going to give them some." "Why, they can't come in here, my dear. Those dirty little brats come in our car! It is impossible, my dear." "Oh, no, it is not, Aunty," said the young girl with a laugh, "they have had no breakfast." "Give them food, my dear, if you please, but I beg you not to bring them into this car. Look how dirty they are! Why, they might give us all some terrible disease!" But Miss Eleanor had closed her ears to the plump lady's expostulations, and was arranging with a surly servant for something to eat for the children. And just then the question of their invasion of the car was settled by the train's starting. I undertook to run forward alongside the car, but seeing an open ravine ahead spanned by a trestle, and that the train was quickening its speed, I caught Dixie and threw him up on the rear platform, and then swung myself up after him. The rear door was still unlocked, so I opened it to pass through the car. Just inside, the elderly lady was sitting back in an arm-chair with a novel in her lap, though she was engaged at the moment in softly polishing her nails. She stopped long enough to raise her jewelled lorgnette, and take a shot at me through it: "Are you the brakeman?" she called. "No, Madame," I said grimly, thinking, "Well, I must have a brakeman's air to-day." "Oh! Will you ring that bell?" "Certainly." I rang and, passing on, was met by the porter coming to answer the bell. "This is a private car," he said shortly, blocking my way. "I know it." I looked him in the eye. "You can't go th'oo this car." "Oh! yes, I can. I have got to go through it. Move out of my way."