I wrote my daughter--My friend, Mrs. Peters,--I've been staying with her,
you know,--was sick in bed, and I wouldn't let--Dear me! what has that
gentleman gone off for in such a hurry?"

"He has gone to get your checks," said Clover, divided between diversion
and dismay at this specimen of her future "matron." "We only stay here a
few minutes, I believe. Do you know exactly when the train starts, Mrs.
Watson?"

"No, dear, I don't. I never know anything about trains and things like
that. Somebody always has to tell me, and put me on the cars. I shall
trust to you and your brother to do that now. It's a great comfort to have
a gentleman to see to things for you."

A gentleman! Poor Philly!

Mr. Dayton now came back to them. It was lucky that he knew the station
and was used to the ways of railroads, for it appeared that Mrs. Watson
had made no arrangements whatever for her journey, but had blindly
devolved the care of herself and her belongings on her "young friends," as
she called Clover and Phil. She had no sleeping section secured and no
tickets, and they had to be procured at the last moment and in such a
scramble that the last of her parcels was handed on to the platform by a
porter, at full run, after the train was in motion. She was not at all
flurried by the commotion, though others were, and blandly repeated that
she knew from the beginning that all would be right as soon as Miss Carr
and her brother arrived.

Mrs. Dayton had sent a courteous invitation to the old lady to come to Car
Forty-seven for tea, but Mrs. Watson did not at all like being left alone