The train now arrived at the Wolverton station, where most of the passengers alighted to take some refreshment. There was a large room, and tables covered with good things for travellers to eat. Willy would have filled his pockets with sweet cakes and fruit; but his mother knew that would not be good for him, so she allowed him to take a large bun, and then gave him some sandwiches. He had hardly finished eating them, when the little bell was heard ting-a-ring-a-ring; and every body understood what it meant. "It seems to say," cried Willy, "come away, ladies, come away, gentlemen, from all those nice things, or you will lose your places; we are going to set off." A great bustle there was, to be sure, with the crowd of people who were pushing their way out of the room door, and then hurrying to their carriages. When Willy and his Papa got into their carriage, they found neither the old lady nor the spoiled child and her mother, but some gentlemen had taken their places. And in another minute the train began to move. "Oh dear!" cried Willy, "they will be left behind; what will they do?" "They have no doubt come to the end of their journey, and are gone to the town, in which they live, in one of those little carriages called flies." "Flies, Papa," repeated Willy, "why are they called flies? for they are not a bit like one." "The carriage is not like the shape of a fly," said his father; "but it is like one by the quickness of its motion. Flying is quicker than trotting or galloping, and these carriages are called flies because they go so fast." They were all glad to have got rid of the spoiled child. Their new fellow travellers talked among themselves, and Willy and his parents did so too. Willy felt very grateful to the old lady for all she had shown him; "yet still, Mamma," said he, "it was rather hard, I think, to throw my ball out of the window; for we did not hit her bonnet on purpose. And then, as for laughing, to be sure that was very wrong; but it was so funny, how could we help it?" "Do you think, if the same thing were to happen again, you would laugh?" "Oh no, certainly, I should be more careful now that I know I should lose my ball." "The old lady gave you warning; and you see that the lesson has not been lost." "But I am sure _you_ would not have done so, Mamma, if you had been the old lady." "We ought, my dear, to make some allowance for the infirmities of old people, which often make them peevish and irritable." "What are infirmities, Mamma?" asked Willy. "Old people can neither see nor hear so well as young ones, because their eyes and their ears become worn out." "Yes," said Willy, "the old lady was obliged to put on her spectacles when she read in her book; and she made me repeat what I said often, because she could not hear me till I spoke louder."