‘Not likely!’ said the stationmaster. ‘I’ve heard that tale before.’
‘The little girl’s had an accident . . . broken her leg,’ Mary pleaded.
The station-master shook his head.
‘There’s not another train to-day,’ she said. ‘Have we time to try and get some money in the village?’
The porter gave a stupid laugh.
‘Train’s two minutes overdue now,’ said the station-master blandly, glancing at the clock on the booking-office wall.
‘But what can we do?’ she cried.
The train clanked in. A number of country people in their Sunday clothes, coming from the villages under the Long Mynd, swarmed on to the platform. They came laughing into the booking-office. ‘All tickets!’ shouted the porter at the door. Abner was still rummaging in his pockets when the train went out. They were left quite alone.
‘What can we do?’ Mary repeated, in a voice full of trouble.
‘We’ve got to walk, that’s all,’ said Abner.