Then the people crowded about Arthur, and wanted to shake hands with him, and thank him, and tell him how sorry they were that he was going away, and he tried to answer every one who spoke to him. He could not remember afterwards what he said to anybody, it was all so confusing; but it must have been just what they wanted him to say, for everybody seemed pleased, and somebody said he was such a fine little fellow that he should have been a Prince. Then somebody else took this up, and said he was a Prince, a young oil Prince; which so pleased the fancy of the people that they at once accepted the title, and cheered again and again for their oil Prince.
The next morning, when Arthur walked with his grandfather down to the station of the new railroad, where they were to take the train, he found a crowd of people gathered about and admiring one of the most beautiful private cars that ever was seen. It was attached to the rear end of the passenger train, which was to be the first ever run over that road, and was so new and fresh-looking that it could evidently never have been used. All of its outside metalwork was of gleaming brass, and in a central panel, encircled by a wreath of roses and butterflies, was inscribed, in golden letters, the name “Cynthia.”
“Just look at that car, grandpapa!” cried Arthur excitedly. “Isn’t it a beauty? and how queer that its name should be Cynthia.”
“It is strange,” answered Colonel Dale with a smile. “Suppose we step aboard and see what the inside looks like.”
They entered by the rear door and found themselves in a beautiful saloon that was furnished with a lounge, table, and easy chairs, and had large plate-glass windows at the end and on both sides. Beyond this was an exquisitely appointed bath-room, and opening from it was a large stateroom, furnished with a low French bedstead, a dressing-table, writing desk, and easy chair. A smaller stateroom opened beyond this one. Still further on they saw a dining-room, at the sides of which were four berths like those in sleeping-cars. Then came a pantry, linen closet, ice chest, and various other conveniences. Last of all was the tiny kitchen, looking like a yacht’s galley, and hung all around with the brightest of cooking utensils.
Arthur was charmed with all that he saw and kept wondering who was to ride in this wonderful palace on wheels. As he peeped into the kitchen he hesitated for a moment and then sprang forward with a cry of joy.
There, with a white cap on his head and a snowy apron tied about his waist, was his own dear old Uncle Phin, his face beaming with delighted anticipation.
“Yes, Honey!” he cried, after the tumult of Arthur’s greeting had somewhat subsided. “I jes had ter come. Ole Unc Phin couldn’ trust you fer ter trabbel wifout him no longer. So I kum to take de charge ob de cookin ob yo kyar.”
“My car!” cried Arthur in amazement. “What does he mean by my car, grandpapa?”
“He means,” replied Colonel Dale, “that this car, the ‘Cynthia,’ and all that it contains is my present to the dearest and best of grandsons, as a slight acknowledgment of what he has done and is doing for me.”