“No,” answered Glory, “she's helping me.”
Another wrestle with the problem, and still another—then an exciting moment when victory seemed in sight. Closer drew the brown heads—more earnest grew the eager voices. “We've got it!”
“Goody!” cried Glory. “Just in time, too, for here we are at—”
Her face sobered. She got to her feet in a sudden panic. What was this strange little place they were drawing into? Those woods, the houses and the trees—they were not Little Douglas.
“I've been carried by!” gasped Glory. “I wasn't noticing. There isn't any other train back to-night—I tell you I've been carried by. This isn't my home!”
[Chapter V.]
As Glory stood on the desolate little platform, realizing that she had been carried by her own station, she presented a picture of dismay. For an instant the Other Girl stood regarding her with indecision. Then with a slight flush she stepped to Glory's side, and, placing her hand on her arm, said:
“You have been carried by your home, but you have not been taken by mine. Come with me; you will not mind much.” There was a shy pleading in the Other Girl's tone. On the instant of offering hospitality to this dainty new friend, and acute perception of the barrenness of it overswept and dismayed her. In a flash she saw the patch on the seat of Tim's trousers, and instantly an array of mismatched cups, nicked plates and cracked pitchers, passed before her vision. Had the dainty Glory in all her life eaten from a nicked plate?
But instantly she rallied and was her own sweet self.
“It is only a little way. We will try to make you comfortable,” the Other Girl said hurriedly. Her thoughts seemed to have occupied a long time, and she feared her invitation might have seemed lacking in cordiality. Glory scanned her face, then said: