I went back to my Pullman, and went to bed. And as I dozed off I kept
wondering whether the Grandmother would be there in the morning to
meet the little travelers. What sort of disaster had deprived them of
parents, I did not know, nor did I care to ask. The children were
alone, but among friends. They were strong and well, but they kept
very close together and looked to the oldest girl as a mother.

But to be alone in Chicago would be terrible! Would she come!

And so I slept. In the morning there was another Conductor in charge,
a man I had not before seen. I went into the day-coach, thinking that
the man might not know about the babies, and that I might possibly
help the little immigrants. But my services were not needed. The
ten-year-old “little other mother” had freshened up her family, and the
Conductor was assuring them, in awfully bad German, that their
Grandmother would be there—although, of course, he didn’t know
anything at all about it.

When the train pulled into the long depot and stopped, the Conductor
took the baby boy on one arm and a little girl on the other.

A porter carried the big lunch-basket, and the little other mother led
a toddler on each side, dodging the hurrying passengers.

Evidently I was the only spectator of the play.

-------------------------------------

“Will she be there—will she be there?” I asked myself nervously.