The way ended in a steep run and a wooden fence--and there was the railway with the shining metals and the telegraph wires and posts and signals. They all climbed on to the top of the fence, and then suddenly there was a rumbling sound that made them look along the line to the right, where the dark mouth of a tunnel opened itself in the face of a rocky cliff; next moment a train had rushed out of the tunnel with a shriek and a snort, and had slid noisily past them. They felt the rush of its passing, and the pebbles on the line jumped and rattled under it as it went by. “Oh!” said Roberta, drawing a long breath; “it was like a great dragon tearing by. Did you feel it fan us with its hot wings?” “I suppose a dragon's lair might look very like that tunnel from the outside,” said Phyllis. But Peter said:-- “I never thought we should ever get as near to a train as this. It's the most ripping sport!” “Better than toy-engines, isn't it?” said Roberta. (I am tired of calling Roberta by her name. I don't see why I should. No one else did. Everyone else called her Bobbie, and I don't see why I shouldn't.) “I don't know; it's different,” said Peter. “It seems so odd to see ALL of a train. It's awfully tall, isn't it?” “We've always seen them cut in half by platforms,” said Phyllis. “I wonder if that train was going to London,” Bobbie said. “London's where Father is.” “Let's go down to the station and find out,” said Peter. So they went. They walked along the edge of the line, and heard the telegraph wires humming over their heads. When you are in the train, it seems such a little way between post and post, and one after another the posts seem to catch up the wires almost more quickly than you can count them. But when you have to walk, the posts seem few and far between. But the children got to the station at last. Never before had any of them been at a station, except for the purpose of catching trains--or perhaps waiting for them--and always with grown-ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not themselves interested in stations, except as places from which they wished to get away. Never before had they passed close enough to a signal-box to be able to notice the wires, and to hear the mysterious 'ping, ping,' followed by the strong, firm clicking of machinery. The very sleepers on which the rails lay were a delightful path to travel by--just far enough apart to serve as the stepping-stones in a game of foaming torrents hastily organised by Bobbie. Then to arrive at the station, not through the booking office, but in a freebooting sort of way by the sloping end of the platform. This in itself was joy. Joy, too, it was to peep into the porters' room, where the lamps are, and the Railway almanac on the wall, and one porter half asleep behind a paper.