all done up in a canvas hold-all, accompany people wherever they
travel--in trains, hotels, even when staying with friends.

Well, there was I shut up for the night with two strange women, mother
and daughter evidently, American certainly; and the horror of an upper
berth staring me in the face! It is quite an experience to sleep in
the upper berth of an Indian train. To begin with, it takes an acrobat
of no mean order to reach it at all, and once you are in your nose
almost touches the roof of the carriage. As I climbed to my lofty
perch one of the American ladies remarked, "I guess, child, you ain't
going to have the time of your life up there to-night." And I hadn't.
Every time the train gave a jolt--which it did every few seconds--I
clung wildly to the straps to keep myself from descending suddenly and
violently to the floor; and in less than an hour every bone in my body
was crying out against the inhuman hardness of my couch. In spite
of everything, I fell asleep, and awoke feeling colder than I ever
remember feeling before. I started up, banging my head on the roof as
I did so, to find that the carriage door was swinging wide open. What
was to be done? I carefully felt the bumps beginning to rise on my
forehead, and considered. It was, humanly speaking, impossible that
I could descend and shut that door, and yet, could I endure lying
inadequately covered and exposed to all the winds of heaven? There
remained my fellow-travellers--they at least were on the first floor,
so to speak; but as I wavered a striking apparition rose, stalked down
the carriage, and, leaning far out into the night, seized the door and
shut it with a bang. Then arose a shrill protest from beneath me: "Oh,
Mommer, how could you be so careless! You might have fallen out, and I
should have been left quite alone in this awful heathen country!"

After that there was no more sleep, and when daylight came filtering