"Not just yet. I am going to the smoking-car for a while. You go to sleep, daughter, and I'll be back pretty soon."
It was some time before the child could compose herself. The voices of the people in the car, the clatter of a passing train, the letting down of the berths, or the opening of a door, all tended to keep her awake, but after a little time she began to say over a rhyme she had learned at school, keeping time to the motion of the car as she repeated:
"To cuddle up the baby ferns, and smooth the lily's sheet,
And tuck a warm, white blanket down around the roses' feet;"
and before she knew it she was fast asleep.
How long she had slept she had not the slightest idea, when she was awakened, very suddenly, by a jerk of the car which nearly threw her from the berth. She sat up rubbing her eyes, wondering where she was, and for a moment it seemed as if she must be dreaming that she was packed away on a high shelf in such a queer place; but presently she was quite wide-awake, and found that there was a great commotion going on; men with lanterns hurried through the car; women began to scream, babies to cry.
"It's all right!" some one shouted. "Don't be alarmed!"
This was enough to frighten Edna, and she began to scramble on her clothes as quickly as possible, first peering down into the berth below, but seeing no papa there. "O, where is my papa? Where is my papa?" she whispered under her breath, as the little trembling fingers tried to fasten the buttons hurriedly.
Presently some one parted the curtains and looked in; it was the negro porter.
"'Scuse me, Miss," he said, "but de folks is all leavin' de cyar. You better let me 'sist you off."
"I want my papa!" cried Edna, looking around distressedly. "O, please tell me what is the matter."