XIV.
SALLY’S HILL JOURNEY.
Sally had been a little Fresh Air child one year; and so, being very bright and sharp with her eyes, and quite capable of putting two and two together, she was not unfamiliar with the ways of getting about.
She soon found her way to the station, people gazing after her with her baby on her shoulder. She felt so much more respectable than before the cook of the steamer took out his big needle and thread in her behalf that she did not mind the curious eyes as she skimmed along.
At the station she got some crackers, and some fresh milk for the baby, in a dreadful hurry, lest this time it should be the sailors who would be after her.
At the ticket-office, after answering many inquisitive questions, she bought with her silver dollars a ticket that would take her a long way on the train that was going farthest from the city she had left in the first place.
But she was not without alarm, when, as she sat munching her crackers, the train began to back and fill, ran a mile or so, and then stood still a long while. She walked up and down in the aisle, looking out of windows anxiously at every turn, over the broad water where boats rocked pleasantly, and singing in a low voice to the restless baby on her shoulder:
“Buy my pipers, pritty loidy,
I don’t darst go home, that’s true;
I won’t git no supper, loidy,