Polly did not notice what the brakeman said, but the maid did, and she spoke quickly.
"Come, Miss Polly, here we are, and we'll do well to get off right now before folks crowd toward the door. By the looks I think everyone means to stop here!"
It certainly looked as if the maid had spoken truly, for men reached for parcels that had been stowed in bundle racks, and women commenced to gather up hand bags, and wraps.
Polly wondered if anyone intended to remain in the car.
She slipped from the seat to the floor, and then, just as they stopped at the station, she turned and peeped from the window.
"Oh, there she is! There she is!" she cried, "and she's in a fine carriage with an old lady that looks like a portrait in our drawing room. Look! Look!"
"We can't stop to look," said the maid, "or we'll be left on the train."
"Oh, we CAN'T stay!" cried Polly, as she hurried toward the door.
She could not imagine anything more dreadful than to be detained on the train, and ride on, and on, while Rose would find no little friend to welcome.
She alarmed the maid by rushing down the steps, and across the platform, and she almost took Great-Aunt Rose's breath away, when she flew at Rose, and the two little girls embraced laughing, and yes, crying just a little at the same time.