sound asleep. That was the last she knew of the trip that she had
settled herself to enjoy, for when she awoke the brakeman was calling
"_Louisville_!" at the top of his voice, and people were beginning to
reach up to the racks overhead for their bundles.

There was a general uprising of the passengers. The crowd pushed toward
the door, carrying the startled child with them as they surged down the
aisle, and all at once--as she stepped off the train--she found herself
in the depths of her dreaded jungle. It was so confusing she did not
know which way to turn. The roar and clang of a great city smote on her
ears as she stood in the big Union depot, helpless, bewildered, and as
lost as a stray kitten in the midst of that noisy, pushing crowd. Sharp
elbows jostled her this way and that; strange faces streamed past her by
thousands, it seemed. How could anybody find anybody else in such a
whirlpool of people? Hunting for a needle in a haystack seemed nothing
in comparison to finding her godmother in such a crowd.

Betty stood looking around her helplessly in the middle of the
overpowering din of whistles and bells and the thunder of wheels on the
cobblestones outside. That moment she would have given anything she
owned to be safely back on the quiet farm. The big brown eyes in the
depths of the sunbonnet filled with tears, but she resolutely winked
them back, whispering the python's words: "A brave heart and a courteous
tongue, manling."

But she could not stop the frightened thumping in her breast, and of
what use was a courteous tongue, when nobody would stop to listen? She
wondered what had happened to make a whole city full of people in such a
desperate hurry.