She smiled at me. “There are more houses in the world than you ever dreamed of, little cat.”
Suddenly we stopped with a great jerk. “What is this?” I asked curiously. “Is it to give the horses a rest?”
“The what?” inquired old Mona wrinkling her forehead.
“The horses who are dragging us. Have they stopped to take breath, and get a drink of water?”
Mona just roared with laughter. “Excuse me, Black-Face,” she gasped, after a time, “but I cannot help it. You are so innocent. Our motive power does not consist of horses, but steam.”
“Steam,” I said in astonishment—“like the tea-kettle steam?”
“Yes, my kitten, yes.”
“And how many kettles does it take?”
Mona at this laughed so uproariously that I paid no further attention to her, but looked at the man whom Anthony called the baggage-master. Had he gone crazy? The train had stopped, and he had pushed back further the big door in the side of the car, and was throwing all the boxes and trunks outside. Oh! how angry he was!
I was perfectly terrified. Soon he would get to our corner. Then would he throw us out? No, for there sat Anthony quite calm and collected, and reading a newspaper.