Moreover the luggage had been tumbled in without check or paster, and Patty wondered if anybody ever could pick out their own again.
“Your regular first-class coaches are funny enough,” she said to Lady Hamilton, “but they are comfortable. This box we’re in is like a cattle pen.”
“Oh, no,” laughed Lady Hamilton; “this isn’t bad at all. You see it’s only a tiny branch road, running to some little hamlets, and it’s not much used. There are only about two trains each way every day.”
This gave Patty a different idea of the little railroad, and she began to feel a more personal interest in it. They rolled slowly through the hop-growing country, and though the scenery was not grand, it was picturesque. Patty said it was like a panorama of “The Angelus.” They reached their station at about five o’clock, and found a fine open barouche awaiting them, and a wagon for their trunks.
The footman greeted them deferentially, and asked them to pick out their luggage from the lot that had been dumped on the station platform.
“I can’t see either of my trunks,” said Patty. “So I suppose I’d better take the ones I like best of these others.”
“Nonsense,” said Lady Hamilton; “yours must be here somewhere. Look around, Marie; you know Miss Fairfield’s boxes.”
“Yes, my Lady; but they are not here.”
Sure enough, they weren’t there, and as Patty was certain they had been put on the train, she concluded they had been carried on.
“What can I do?” she cried. “Can we telephone to the next station and have them sent back?”