She had still another journey before her, and without her papa too. A night journey, which promised to be easy and comfortable, but turned out quite the contrary. A journey in which Sunny’s powers of endurance were taxed to the utmost, so that it will be years before she forgets the wind-up of her holiday.
Her papa put his family safe in a carriage all to themselves, and under special charge of the guard. Then he left them, just settling down to sleep; Sunny being disposed of in a snug corner, with an air-cushion for a pillow, and furry shawls wrapped about her, almost as cosy as in her own little crib, in which, after her various changes and vicissitudes, she was soon to repose once more.
She fell asleep in five minutes, and her mamma, who was very tired, soon dozed also, until roused by a sharp cry of fright. There was the poor little girl, lying at the bottom of the carriage, having been thrown there by its violent rocking. It rocked still, and rocked for many, many miles, in the most dreadful manner. When it stopped the guard was appealed to, who said it was “the coupling-chains too slack,” and promised to put all right. So the travellers went to sleep again, this time Sunny in her mamma’s arms, which she refused to quit.
Again more jolting, and another catastrophe; mamma and the child finding themselves lying both together on the floor. This time Sunny was much frightened, and screamed violently, repulsing even her mamma.
“I thought you were not my own mamma; I thought you were somebody else,” said she, afterward, and it was a long time before she came to her right self and cuddled down; the oscillation of the carriage continuing so bad that it was as much as her mamma could do, by wrapping her own arms around her, to protect the poor child from being hurt and bruised.
The guard, again appealed to, declared there was no danger, and that he would find a more comfortable carriage at the next stopping-place: but in vain. It was a full train, and the only two seats vacant were in a carriage full of gentlemen, who might object to a poor, sleepy, crying child. The little party went hopelessly back.
“Perhaps those gentlemen might talk so loud they might waken Sunny,” said the child, sagely, evidently remembering her experiences of five weeks ago. At any rate, nobody wished to try the experiment.
Since there was no actual danger, the only remedy was endurance. Mamma settled herself as firmly as she could, making a cradle of her arms. There, at length, the poor child, who had long ceased crying, and only gave an occasional weary moan, fell into a doze, which ended in quiet sleep. She was very heavy, and the hours seemed very long, but still they slipped away somehow. Nothing is absolutely unbearable when one feels that, being inevitable, it must be borne.
Of course nobody slept, except the child, until near daybreak, when a new and more benevolent guard came to the rescue, had the coupling-chains fastened (which, they found, had never been done at all till now), and lessened the shaking of the carriage. Then tired Lizzie dropped asleep too, and the gray morning dawned upon a silent carriage, sweeping rapidly across the level English country, so different from that left behind. No more lochs, no more mountains. No more sunshine either, as it appeared; for there was no sign of sunrise, and the day broke amidst pelting rain, which kept drip, drip, upon the top of the carriage, till it seemed as if a deluge would soon be added to the troubles of the journey.
But these were not so bad now. Very soon the little girl woke up, neither frightened nor cross, but the same sunshiny child as ever.