"Perhaps: who knows, picciola? The heaven you miss may come to you
more easily if you go to seek it. At any rate, I will carry thee no
farther from it. But come: we must get to our journey."

Leaving the confectioner's shop, Giovanni lingered no longer in the
gay streets, or even upon the fresh green grass of the Common, where
Cherry would have staid to play all day. Hurrying across it, and
through some crowded streets, the Italian entered a large
station-house, where stood the train of cars, already half filled
with passengers; while the engine, puffing and panting with
impatience, seemed unwilling to wait a moment longer.

Leaving Cherry in the ladies' room, the Italian bought his tickets,
and reclaimed from the baggage-room, where he had left it, his
organ, with Pantalon chained to the top of it. Then, calling the
child, he hurried with her into the cars, and selected a seat behind
the door, in the evident wish of being seen as little as possible.

"Now, then, Ciriegia mia, we go to seek our fortune," said he, as
the train left the station, and began to rush through the suburbs of
the city, scattering little dirty children, vagrant dogs, leisurely
pigs, and dawdling carriages driven by honest old ladies, from its
track.

Cherry never had ridden in the cars before; and she clung tight to
the sleeve of her companion, afraid to move, or even to speak, until
he laughingly asked,--

"It does not fear, the poor little one, does it?"