Their train was waiting when they reached the station and the sisters boarded it in some excitement. 'Phemie's gaiety increased the nearer they approached to Bridleburg, which was their goal. She was a plump, rosy girl, with broad, thick plaits of light-brown hair ("molasses-color" she called it in contempt) which she had begun to "do up" only upon going to work. She had a quick blue eye, a laughing mouth, rather wide, but fine; a nose that an enemy--had laughing, good-natured Euphemia Bray owned one--might have called "slightly snubbed," and her figure was just coming into womanhood. Lydia's appearance was entirely different. They did not look much like sisters, to state the truth. The older girl was tall, straight as a dart, with a dignity of carriage beyond her years, dark hair that waved very prettily and required little dressing, and a clear, colorless complexion. Her eyes were very dark gray, her nose high and well chiseled, like Aunt Jane's. She was more of a Phelps. Aunt Jane declared Lyddy resembled Dr. Apollo, or "Polly," Phelps more than had either of his own children. The train passed through a dun and sodden country. The late thaw and the rains had swept the snow from these lowlands; the unfilled fields were brown and bare. Here and there, however, rye and wheat sprouted green and promising, and in the distance a hedge of water-maples along the river bank seemed standing in a purple mist, for their young leaves were already pushing into the light. "There will be pussy-willows," exclaimed 'Phemie, "and hepaticas in the woods. Think of _that_, Lyddy Bray!" "And the house will be as damp as the tomb--and not a stick of wood cut--and no stoves," returned the older girl. "Oh, dear, me! you're such an old grump!" ejaculated 'Phemie. "Why try to cross bridges before you come to them?" "Lucky for you, Miss, that I _do_ think ahead," retorted Lyddy with some sharpness. There was a grade before the train climbed into Bridleburg. Back of the straggling old town the mountain ridge sloped up, a green and brown wall, breaking the wind from the north and west, thus partially sheltering the town. There was what farmers call "early land" about Bridleburg, and some trucking was carried on. But the town itself was much behind the times--being one of those old-fashioned New England settlements left uncontaminated by the mill interests and not yet awakened by the summer visitor, so rife now in most of the quiet villages of the six Pilgrim States. The rambling wooden structure with its long, unroofed platform, which served Bridleburg as a station, showed plainly what the railroad company thought of the town. Many villages of less population along the line boasted modern station buildings, grass plots, and hedges. All that surrounded Bridleburg's barrack-like depôt was a plaza of bare, rolled cinders.