While the train was coming slowly up from the pier to the station, where the passengers awaited it, a gentleman, with a baby in his arms, was walking on the track. The English clergyman rushed forward before it, waving his umbrella and crying, “Off, man, off the track, or in one moment you will be crushed to atoms.” Again they were seated in the cars. “What beautiful spikes of purple flowers,” exclaimed Mrs. Lester, “and close by the station. I wish we had seen them.” “And those brilliant red flowers,” said Norman, “Did you ever see anything prettier?” “Do you think they are flowers or berries” asked his mother; “we go so fast that I cannot tell which they are.” At a station where they stopped, a gentleman got out and gathered some of these red berries, handing them to Mrs. Lester through the window. “Red elderberries,” said Mrs. Lester; “very pretty, but not the gorgeous flowers we thought them; we cannot press these.” The road lay through timber, and the stations were groups of unpainted houses in the clearings. Felled trees and blackened stumps met the eye in every direction. At a station near Lake Simcoe the train stopped for two or three minutes, and Norman and his mother rushed to an opening, where they had a lovely view of the pretty sheet of water. A longer view they had, though not so lovely, when the train went down on a short railroad running to the lake, to take the passengers who had made the circuit of it in the little steamboat. The boat was in sight, but some distance off, so that the passengers seated themselves on the pier, or on the piles of boards that encumbered it. Logs and boards met the eye in every direction, and an immense steam saw-mill was at work, converting the felled trees of the great forest through which they had passed, into the boards with which the settler builds his house. “Where is Norman?” asked Mrs. Lester anxiously of Mr. Campbell, a Scotch gentleman. “I do not see him anywhere.” The gentleman told her he would look for him, and in a few minutes he returned with the boy. “Mother, I went up to that wood to gather some of these beautiful purple flowers for you, and for that young lady. She said she would like some of them, and I saw that the steamboat was so far off that I had time.” “You should have told me where you were going, my child, and you would have spared me some moments of anxiety.” “I am sorry, mother, but I was in no danger. I wanted to get some red berries for that young lady, but I could not find any.” “You may have these,” replied his mother; “I do not want them;” and while Norman went to give his berries and flowers to the young lady, with whom he had had many pleasant talks on the Planet, his mother pressed the pretty spikes of purple flowers in her guidebook.