"I wonder if that train was going to London," Bobbie said. "London's where father is."

"Let's go down to the station and find out," said Peter.

So they went.

They walked along the edge of the line, and heard the telegraph wires humming over their heads. When you are in the train, it seems such a little way between post and post, and one after another the posts seem to catch up the wires almost more quickly than you can count them. But when you have to walk, the posts seem few and far between.

But the children got to the station at last.

Never before had any of them been at a station, except for the purpose of catching trains,—or perhaps waiting for them,—and always with grown-ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not themselves interested in stations, except as places from which they wished to get away.

Never before had they passed close enough to a signal box to be able to notice the wires, and to hear the mysterious "ping ping," followed by the strong firm clicking of machinery.

The very sleepers on which the rails lay were a delightful path to travel by—just far enough