"The car had iron seats before," she informed him. "How extraordinary!" "This is an ever so much prettier train," she added. "I'm afraid I'll hurt the plush." She took out a diminutive handkerchief and spread it out to sit upon. The clubman with an amused expression swung round another chair and sat down opposite. "My name's Abigail Martha Higgins," she said, taking off her little straw hat. "I live in Bangor with my aunt. That old man was Uncle Moses Higgins. Aunt doesn't love his wife." "Dear me!" sympathized McAllister. "My father and mother are in heaven," she continued in matter-of-fact tones. "Up there. Wouldn't you hate to live up in the sky and do nothin'?" "I certainly should," he answered with gravity. "We all came down from there, you know. Do you think we were born all in one piece, or put together afterward?" McAllister pondered. "What's your name?" "McAllister," he replied. "That's a funny name!" she commented. "It sounds like McCafferty--that's Deacon Brewer's hired man's name." "Do you think so?" asked the clubman apologetically, feeling that his parents had done him an irreparable injury. "I'll call you Mister Mac," added the child, "and you may call me Abby, 'cause I'm only eight. Do you live to Boston?" "No; New York. An awful way off." "Have they got a Free-Will Meetin'-house there?" she inquired knowingly. "I'm sure I don't know," he answered, feeling wofully ignorant of all matters of real importance. "Then it must be a very small place," she decided. "All big places have a Free-Will Meetin'-house, Uncle Moses says." At this moment Wilkins approached to inquire if his master wanted anything. "Is there a Free-Will Meetin'-house in New York?" inquired the clubman. "Yes, sir; I believe so, sir. That is to say, a Baptist place of worship, sir," he answered solemnly. "Is that your brother?" inquired Abby. "No--" hesitated McAllister, doubtful as to what the valet's equivalent would be in his little friend's world. "What's your name?" inquired Abby. "Wilkins, miss," answered the valet. "What a lovely name!" cried Abby. "It's much nicer than his'n." Wilkins stepped back a few paces aghast. "That box is chuck full of eggs," announced Abby. "I wonder where the hens get them." "I give it up," said the clubman. "We have a black horse on our farm," she continued. "It used to be a girl, but now it's a boy." "Indeed!" exclaimed McAllister. "Yes, aunt had her tail cut off. Boys have short hair, you know--that's how you tell." At this Wilkins disappeared rapidly into the background. "Uncle Moses' wife don't love children," the child continued. "She has the rheumatiz in her thigh." "But she must like _you_, Abby," urged her new friend. "No, she don't. She don't love me 'cause I love Aunt Abby, an' Aunt Abby don't love her." "I see," said McAllister.