"Robin," he answered, and leaned farther out to look into her box. "Be
careful," she cautioned; "you might fall out."

He looked at her gravely an instant, and then said in a slow, quaint
fashion: "Why, no; I can't fall out, 'cause big brother's a holdin' on
to my feet."

She drew back a little, startled. It had not occurred to her that any
one else might be interested in watching this little episode. She gave
a quick glance at the other windows of the car, and then exclaimed:
"What is it, papa,--a picnic or a travelling orphan asylum? It looks
like a whole carload of children."

Yes, there they were, dozens of them, it seemed; fair faces and
freckled ones, some dimpled and some thin; all bearing the marks of a
long journey on soot-streaked features and grimy hands, but all
wonderfully merry and good-natured.

Just then a tired-looking man swung himself down the steps, and stood
looking around him, knitting his brows nervously. He heard the girl's
question, and then her father's reply: "I don't know, my dear, I am
sure; but I'll inquire if you wish."

The man's brows relaxed a little and he answered them without waiting
to be addressed. "They are children sent out by an aid society in the
East. I am taking them to homes in Kansas, mostly in the country."

"You don't mean to tell me," the old gentleman exclaimed in surprise,
"that you have the care of that entire car full of children! How do
you ever manage them all?"