Mrs. March was at that moment trying to find some place to put Nelly's and hers.
"I'm sure I don't know," she replied. "There isn't a sign of a hook here to hang any thing on."
"Nor here," replied Mr. March: "I'll leave them all in a pile on the foot of the bed."
"That'll do very well for a man's clothes," thought Mrs. March; "but I must hang up our gowns and skirts." At last, she had a bright thought. She stood up on the edge of the bed, and hooked the skirts over the rod the curtains were swung from. It was all she could do to reach it; and, just as she was hooking the last skirt on, the car gave a lurch, and out she fell, out into the aisle, and across it, through the curtains of Mr. March's berth, right on to his bed.
"Goodness alive, Sarah! is this you?" he exclaimed, jumping up, frightened. He was just falling asleep.
"Well, I believe so," she said: "I'm not sure."
"Oh, mamma, did it hurt you?" called Nelly, anxiously.
"No, no, dear," replied her mother. "I'm coming right back." But, before she went, she whispered in her husband's ear:—
"Robert March, I think a sleeping-car is the most detestable place I ever got into in my life. Suppose I'd tumbled into some stranger's berth, as I did into yours just now."
Mr. March only laughed, and Mrs. March heard him laughing to himself after she had gone back, and it did not make her feel any pleasanter to hear this. At last she and Nelly were both undressed and in bed. Their clothes and dressing-cases and travelling-bags were piled up on their feet.