Holding to a wooden brace on the side of the car with one hand, Bunny tried to push back the heavy, sliding door with the other. It went a few inches, letting more light inside the car, but there the door stuck. And it was, perhaps, a good thing that it did. For if the door had opened suddenly the little boy might have been pitched out, for the train of empty freight cars was now moving swiftly.
Bunny pulled and tugged so hard that he fairly grunted.
"What's the matter?" asked Sue, hearing him.
"I—I can't get this door—open!" gasped her brother.
"Oh, well, never mind," she said. "Maybe some of the trainmen will come along and let us out."
"How can they come along when the train is moving?" Bunny wanted to know.
"Didn't you ever see 'em run along on top of the freight cars?" asked Sue.
"Yes. But this door is on the side—not on top," her brother answered. "I've got to get it open if we want to get out!"
He pulled and tugged again, but it was of no use. The door had opened a little way, making a crack through which Bunny could see the sunny fields, the trees, the telegraph poles, and the fences gliding past. But the crack was all too small for him or Sue to squeeze through.
"I guess we'll have to wait," Bunny said at length, as he crawled back to the side of his sister.