“What kind of things?” Gretta was beginning, but Sybil broke in animatedly: “Oh, look! There’s the sea and the cliffs! Is it Cliffland? And what a funny, tiny house! Can it be the school?”
The other children followed her pointing finger with their eyes. There, in the distance, stood a little one-storied bungalow-like habitation in the shadow of the cliffs.
“What a strange place!” said Gretta. “Why, Margot, look! It hasn’t any windows, has it?”
“Not that I can see,” began her cousin, peering out, but even while they watched the house was lost to view as the train took a sudden curve.
“There! It’s gone!” said Sybil petulantly. “How stupid!”
“It couldn’t have been the school, anyway,” laughed Margot, “it’s too small. Never mind, we’ll go and have a look at it some day. Here, the train’s stopping. I believe this is Cliffland!”
The appearance of a lady at the door of the carriage, who looked in and nodded at them and then proceeded, as the train drew up, to open the door, confirmed their suspicions. “You’re for the Cliff School, aren’t you?” she said cheerfully. “Jump out, and be quick! The porter will see to all your things, so leave them behind—the pony will be waiting!”
Gretta obediently advanced to the stranger’s side, leaving all but her beloved fiddle. Sybil followed her sister, feeling friendly disposed, but shy. Margot, with alacrity, jumped on to the seat, and began pulling down her leather suit-cases from the rack.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” remarked the new-comer pleasantly. “Leave your bags. The porter has his orders, and this is a terminus.” She looked up and down the platform as she spoke and then, with a parting “Wait a minute, girls!” made her way to the other end of the train.
“Whatever did she mean?” said Margot, standing by her bags on the platform and addressing Gretta in mystified tones. “I’d far rather see after these myself.”