‘You can’t drag children up hill and down dale.’
‘Well, there’s the train from Llandwlas.’
She shook her head. ‘You can’t get back the same day,’ she said.
‘You could put in the night at Redlake. There’s a station there.’
She said nothing. ‘It’s a shame to disappoint them,’ he added.
Her interest in the children’s happiness was her weak point, and in the end Abner had his way. He settled with the Gunner that he should leave work early on the Thursday afternoon and return on Saturday morning. He met Mary and the children on the platform at Llandwlas in the afternoon. Morgan had never travelled in a train before, and stood excitedly at the window, next to his mother. Gladys sat quietly by the side of Abner, who carried the brown paper parcel in which their clothes and provisions were packed. He was not quite comfortable, for it seemed to him even now that Mary had undertaken the expedition under protest. This was unreasonable, for he had enough money to carry them through, and it was no use going on an expedition like this unless she were determined to enjoy it. But Mary was thinking of her last journey from Llandwlas in the morning train to Shrewsbury. Perhaps she was thinking also of George.
A fit of train-sickness put a stop to Morgan’s enthusiasms for a time. In the cool of the evening they reached the station of Redlake, a small village which stands on a little river that is a torrent in winter but in summer no more than a trickle of water. From there a road, hung with heavy trees, runs straight to Brampton Bryan, three or four miles away. The train was crowded, and as they approached Redlake Mary grew uneasy, for she guessed that most of the travellers were bound for the same place and with the same purpose and began to wonder if they could find a lodging in so small a village. She whispered her fears to Abner, and they hurried from the station into the sloping street. The first inn that they came to was already full.
‘You might get a room at the Harley Arms, if you’re quick,’ a flustered landlord told them. They went straight on. Abner walked too quickly for them, and Mary almost had to run, dragging the children behind her. At the Harley Arms a fat woman eyed them suspiciously.
‘It’s the worst day of the whole year,’ she said. ‘I don’t see how I can do it. If you’d come in by the next train you wouldn’t have found a bed in the whole of Redlake.’
‘You can’t turn the children out,’ said Abner. ‘The little boy’s been sick in the train.’