In reality 'Tilda Jane was in a state of semi-paralysis. She scarcely dared to move, to breathe. All her life had been spent in the quiet precincts of the asylum. She had scarcely been allowed to go to the small village in its vicinity, and when she had been allowed to visit it she had seen nothing as wonderful as this, for there was no railway there. It took her breath away to be whirled along at so rapid a rate. She wondered how the people dared to walk about. She wondered how she had ever had courage enough to step on board the flaming, roaring monster that had come rushing out of the woods as if it would devour the little station, the agent, herself, and her dog. But they had not been devoured, and the agent had guided her staggering footsteps toward the monster. If he had not done so, she would in her bewilderment have been left a prey for the pitiless Mrs. Minley.
For two hours she sat with swimming brain, then it occurred to her that she must in some way acquaint this wonderful and frightful means of locomotion, with her desire to alight at her destination. She closely watched the people entering and leaving the car, and discovered that immediately following the entrance of a man who bawled some unintelligible exclamation, something took place that reminded her of a game played at the asylum. Certain people went out, and certain others came in and took their places. She must catch this noisy man and speak to him.
She patiently waited for him to pass through the car. Once he swept by her, and then some time elapsed before she saw him again. The train had been waiting for fifteen minutes at a station. A number of men had gone out, and presently come back brushing their moustaches and with toothpicks between their teeth. This must be an eating-place; and Ruth Ann said that 'Tilda Jane would arrive in Ciscasset before breakfast-time.
The little girl desperately addressed a passenger passing her. "I say, sir, when do we come to Ciscasset?"
"Ciscasset!" repeated the man. "We passed it an hour ago."
"Passed it!" she echoed, stupidly.
The man turned to a news agent sauntering by. "Here, you, send the conductor here."
The conductor did not appear, but a brakeman came. "Got carried beyond your station, little girl. You're in Canada now, but it's all right; we'll ship you off at the next stop. Number eight will take you back. All ri-i-i-ght."
'Tilda Jane fell back on her seat with a strange sinking of heart. She remembered now that Hank Dillson had said the conductor would "holler" Ciscasset; but, if he had done so, she had not distinguished the words in the strange sounds issuing from his mouth.