"I wonder what Lydia put in here," said Penelope, looking down at the despised basket for the first time. "Something smells rather nice." They had left home before nine, and the meal they ate before starting was hardly worthy the name, and as it was now past twelve they began to feel very empty and rather faint, and the savoury whiffs which floated out from the basket grew more and more appealing. Poppy slipped from her seat at last and pressed her small nose close to the cover. "I believe it's patties, and gooseberries, and--and--" Lydia had her faults as to temper, but there was no denying she could cook when she chose to, and her meat patties were the joy of the children's hearts on the rare occasions when she could find time to make them. Without more delay the basket was unpacked, and Poppy's sense of smell was amply justified. Four meat patties, some hard-boiled eggs and slices of bread and butter, cakes, biscuits, milk, gooseberries, and apples, made a lunch fit for four queens. And the children fairly squealed with delight as they unrolled packet after packet. "We will have a table," cried Esther, springing up and spreading a newspaper on the seat for a tablecloth, "and lay everything out on it. I only hope no one else will want to come into this carriage." It was not very easy to keep on their feet with the train swaying and jerking them as it did, but it made it all the more amusing, and when all was spread it looked so nice it made them feel very grand and grown-up. It was a wonderful new experience, and their spirits rose quite high under it. "I wish we could go on and on like this always," said Esther. "Wouldn't it be jolly! There would be no one to worry us, and no strangers to face." Penelope looked up quickly, her eyes alight with a sudden idea. "Oh, Esther, let's do it! Let's go on and not get out at Dorsham," she cried wickedly. "But could we go on much further?" asked practical Angela. "Isn't there any end to the railway?" "I don't know. Perhaps it just goes on and on all round England, and in and out until it comes to where it started from, and then goes on again," said Penelope, her mind busy over the problem. "But the poor engine-drivers must get down sometimes and go to bed, mustn't they?" asked Poppy. "They don't sleep on the engine, do they?" "I wish I knew," said Penelope. "It would be so lovely just to go on and on and not know where we were, or anything, and--"