"Your mother and I don't get along, somehow," Mrs. Hammond said, as we stood together on the gravel path. The flowers were out in bloom all around us—roses, and pinks, and sweet-williams, not in patches of colour, but all mixed up together. Father took such a pride in his garden; the flowers were his friends and his pets. But we were not thinking about flowers just then. "I don't know why, I'm sure," she went on, "only I don't mean any harm. Lots of people say that, and I'm sure I don't know what the sense of it is; so I suppose the words are silly. But, dear me, one can't be always stopping to weigh every word." I remember that the text about "every idle word" having to be accounted for, rushed straight into my mind. "But, of course, your mother likes to know you are admired, Kitty," she went on. "I don't know. I don't think she does," I said. "Oh, nonsense! She must. Any mother does. She's only afraid of your being hurt, and it's odd she should, such a humble little thing as you are. If you were like some girls, now! But there, you're a pretty little dear, and the beauty of the village, no matter what anybody says. And now, I've got to be off, and not waste any more time." I did not go in directly. It was almost time for the afternoon express to go by, and I was not in a hurry for what mother might say. Of course, I knew that Mrs. Hammond was not wise to speak to me as she did; but, all the same, I was pleased, and I did not want to be told that Mrs. Hammond was a silly woman, not worth listening to. So I stayed out a little, lingering about in the sunshine. Mother was busy, and I ought to have been helping her; but I never was fond of work, and I knew she would not mind my having a little more fresh air. The afternoon express was a favourite of mine. I could not have told why, but it always was, and always had been. It did not stop at our station; none of the fast trains did. I always liked to watch it rushing past, and making a whirl of dust and sticks, and a grand commotion. Ever since I was a little child I always had liked to watch that express, and somehow I never grew tired of it. They used to laugh at my fancy. Father and the men got so used to the trains going by that they didn't even hear them, except when there was need of attending to signals. And when I was busy, I did not hear the other trains either. I never had time to attend to the morning express. The afternoon express came at a time when I was pretty free, and as I say, I had a funny liking for it, almost as if it was a friend of mine.