'Here you are, Miss,' he said with the kindest smile, 'price nothing, and refreshments free all the way. It's a pleasure,' he added, 'to issue a ticket to a nice little lady like you.' The train was entirely of crystal, too, and the cushions were of white satin. There were little buttons such as you have for electric bells, and on them '_Whatyouwantoeat_,' '_Whatyouwantodrink_,' '_Whatyouwantoread_,' in silver letters. Amabel pressed all the buttons at once, and instantly felt obliged to blink. The blink over, she saw on the cushion by her side a silver tray with vanilla ice, boiled chicken and white sauce, almonds (blanched), peppermint creams, and mashed potatoes, and a long glass of lemonade--beside the tray was a book. It was Mrs. Ewing's _Bad-tempered Family_, and it was bound in white vellum. There is nothing more luxurious than eating while you read--unless it be reading while you eat. Amabel did both: they are not the same thing, as you will see if you think the matter over. And just as the last thrill of the last spoonful of ice died away, and the last full stop of the _Bad-tempered Family_ met Amabel's eye, the train stopped, and hundreds of railway officials in white velvet shouted, '_Whereyouwantogoto!_ Get out!' A velvety porter, who was somehow like a silkworm as well as like a wedding handkerchief sachet, opened the door. 'Now!' he said, 'come on out, Miss Amabel, unless you want to go to _Whereyoudon'twantogoto_.' She hurried out, on to an ivory platform. 'Not on the ivory, if you please,' said the porter, 'the white Axminster carpet--it's laid down expressly for you.' Amabel walked along it and saw ahead of her a crowd, all in white. 'What's all that?' she asked the friendly porter. 'It's the Mayor, dear Miss Amabel,' he said, 'with your address.' 'My address is The Old Cottage, Amberley,' she said, 'at least it used to be'--and found herself face to face with the Mayor. He was very like Uncle George, but he bowed low to her, which was not Uncle George's habit, and said: 'Welcome, dear little Amabel. Please accept this admiring address from the Mayor and burgesses and apprentices and all the rest of it, of Whereyouwantogoto.' The address was in silver letters, on white silk, and it said: 'Welcome, dear Amabel. We know you meant to please your aunt. It was very clever of you to think of putting the greenhouse flowers in the bare flower-bed. You couldn't be expected to know that you ought to ask leave before you touch other people's things.' 'Oh, but,' said Amabel quite confused. 'I did....' But the band struck up, and drowned her words. The instruments of the band were all of silver, and the bandsmen's clothes of white leather. The tune they played was 'Cheero!' Then Amabel found that she was taking part in a procession, hand in hand with the Mayor, and the band playing like mad all the time. The Mayor was dressed entirely in cloth of silver, and as they went along he kept saying, close to her ear.