"Is he?" she said, wistfully, "an' have you got more family?"
"Yes, I have a mother as pretty as a picture, and three sisters."
"An' you have a nice room with a fire that ain't boxed up, an' you sit round, an' no other folks come in, an' no bells ring for you to get up and do somethin'?"
"We have loads of rooms in our house," said the lad, boastfully. "It's the biggest one in Ciscasset. You'll soon find out where we live. Here we are most in—Iceboro next, then home," and he flattened his face against the glass.
Outside in the dark night, bright lights appeared, danced over the snowy country, then disappeared. The train was running through the outskirts of a prosperous town.
"Is Ciscasset a nice place?" asked 'Tilda Jane, wistfully.
"Slowest old place that ever was. I'd like to live in Bangor or Portland. There's something going on there. We've nothing but a river, and mills, and trees, and hills—not a decent theatre in the place."
'Tilda Jane did not know what a theatre was, and discreetly held her peace.
"I say—here we are!" exclaimed the boy. "I hope mamma will have a good supper."