could reach the street unobserved, and she walked straight ahead to the
railroad station. She had a five-dollar gold piece that Uncle Steve had
sent her on Christmas, and that, with a little silver change, she
carried in her pocketbook. But she left behind her pearl ring and all
the little trinkets or valuables she possessed.

She felt as if her heart had turned to stone. It wasn't so much anger at
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard as it was that awful sense of desolation,--as if
the world had come to an end.

At one moment she would think she missed King the most; then with the
thought of her father, a rush of tears would come; and then her poor
little tortured heart would cry out, "Oh, Mother, _Mother_!"

She knew perfectly well the way to New York, and though the station
agent looked at her sharply when she bought a ticket, he said nothing.
For Marjorie was a self-possessed little girl, of good manners and quiet
air when she chose to be. With her ticket in her hand, she sat down to
wait for the train. There were few people in the station at that hour,
and no one who knew her.

When the train came puffing in, she went out and took it, in a
matter-of-fact way, as if quite accustomed to travelling alone.

Really, she felt very much frightened. She had never been on a train
alone before, and the noise of the cars and the bustle of the people,
and the shouting of the trainmen made her nervous.

And then, with a fresh flood of woe, the remembrance of _why_ she was
going would come over her, and obliterate all other considerations.