“Hush, sissy! Don’t make such a noise. You’re disturbing a whole car full of people,” said somebody near her.  
Josephine suppressed her cries, but could not the which shook her. She looked up into the face of the black porter, Bob, studied it , found it not unkind, and her self-possession.
 
“My name is not sissy. It’s Josephine Smith. I want my dolly. I cannot go to sleep without her. Her name is Rudanthy. Fetch me Rudanthy, boy.”
 
Bob was the most familiar object she had yet seen. He might have come from the big hotel where she and mamma had taken their meals. Her mother’s cottage had been close by, and sometimes of a morning a waiter had brought[15] their breakfast across to them. That waiter was a favorite, and in this dimness she fancied he had appeared before her.
 
“Do you live at the ‘Florence,’ boy?” she asked.
 
“No, missy, but my brother does,” he answered.
 
“Ah! Fetch me Rudanthy, please.”
 
After much , and some to a lady who now occupied the upper , the doll was found and restored. But by this time Josephine was wide awake and disposed to ask questions.
 
“What’s all the curtains hung in a row for, Bob?”
 
“To hide the , missy. I guess you’d better not talk now.”
 
“No, I won’t. What you doing now, Bob?” she continued.
 
“Making up the section across from yours, missy. Best go to sleep,” advised the man.
 
“Oh, I’m not a bit sleepy. Are you?” was her next demand.
 
“Umm,” came the unsatisfactory response.
 
[16]“What you say? You mustn’t . Mamma never allows me to mumble. I always speak outright,” was Josephine’s next comment.
 
“Reckon that’s true enough,” murmured the porter, under his breath.
 
“What, Bob? I didn’t hear,” from the little girl.
 
“No matter, I’ll tell you in the morning,” he whispered.
 
“I’d rather know now.”
 
No response coming to this, she went on:
 
“Bob! Please to mind me, boy. I—want—to—hear—now,” very distinctly and emphatically. Josephine had been accustomed to having her wishes attended to immediately. That was about all mamma and big Bridget seemed to live for.
 
The lady in the berth above leaned over the edge and said, in a whisper:
 
“Little girl, keep still.”
 
“Yes, lady.”
 
Bob finished the opposite section, and a woman in a red kimono came from the dressing-room[17] and slipped behind the curtain. Josephine knew a red kimono. It belonged to Mrs. Dutton, the minister’s wife, and Mrs. Dutton often stayed at mamma’s cottage. Could this be Mrs. Dutton?
 
The child was out of bed, across the narrow , swaying with the motion of the car, pulling the curtains apart, and clutching wildly at a figure in the lower berth.
 
“Mrs. Dutton. Oh! Mrs. Dutton! Here’s Josephine.”
 
“Ugh! Ouch! Eh! What?”
 
“Oh! ’Xcuse me. I thought you were Mrs. Dutton.”
 
“Well, I’m not. Go away. Draw that curtain again. Go back to your folks. Your mother should know better than to let you roam about the at night.”
 
“My mother knows—everything!” said Josephine, loyally. “I’m dreadful sorry you’re not Mrs. Dutton, ’cause she’d have tooken off my coat and things. My coat is new. My mamma wouldn’t like me to sleep in it. But the buttons stick. I can’t it.”
 
[18]“Go to your mother, child. I don’t wish to be annoyed.”
 
“I can’t, ’cause she’s over seas, big Bridget says, to that red- country. I s’pose I’ll have to, then. Good-night. I hope you’ll rest well.”
 
The lady in the red kimono did not feel as if she would. She was always nervous in a sleeping-car, anyway; and what did the child mean by “over seas in the red-pickle country”? Was it possible she was travelling alone? Were there people in the world so foolish as to allow such a thing?
 
After a few moments of much thinking, the lady rose, carefully adjusted her kimono, and stepped to Josephine’s berth. The child lay holding the curtains apart, much to the disgust of the person overhead, and gazing at the lamp above. Her cheeks were wet, her free hand clutched Rudanthy, and the expression of her face was one that no woman could see and not pity.
 
“My dear little girl, don’t cry. I’ve come to take off your cloak. Please sit up a minute.”
 
[19]“Oh, that’s nice! Thank you. I—I—if mamma”—
 
“I’ll try to do what mamma would. There. It’s unfastened. Such a pretty coat it is, too. Haven’t you a little gown of some sort to put on?”
 
“All my things are in the . Big Bridget put them there. She told me—I forget what she did tell me. Bob tucked the satchel away.”
 
“I’ll find it.”
 
By this time the upper berth lady was again looking over its edge and airing her views on the subject:
 
“The idea! If I’d known I was going to be pushed off up here and that chit of a child put in below I’d have made a row.”
 
“I believe you,” said Red Kimono, calmly. “Yet I suppose this lower bed must have been taken and paid for in the little one’s name.”
 
“’Xcuse me, Mrs. Kimono. I’m not a little one. I’m quite, quite big. I’m Josephine.”
 
“And is there nobody on this train belonging to you, Miss Josie?” asked Mrs. Red Kimono.
 
[20]“Josephine. My mamma doesn’t like nicknames. There’s nobody but the expressman. And everybody. Doctor Mack said to my mamma that everybody would take care of me. I heard him. It is the truth. Doctor Mack is a grown-up gentleman. Gentlemen never tell wrong stories. Do they?” asked the little girl.
 
“They ought not, surely. And we ought not to be talking now. It is in the middle of the night, and all the tired people want to sleep. Are you comfortable? Then curl down here with Rudanthy and shut your eyes. If you happen to wake again, and feel lonely, just come across to my berth and creep in with me. There’s room in it for two when one of the two is so small. Good-night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
 
Red Kimono ceased whispering, pressed a kiss on the round cheek, and disappeared. She was also travelling alone, but felt not half so lonely since she had comforted the little child, who was again asleep, but smiling this time, and who awoke only when a lady in a[21] plain gray costume pulled the curtains apart and touched her lightly on the shoulder. This was “Red Kimono” in her day .
 
“Time to get up, Josephine. Breakfast is ready and your section-mate will want the place up. May I take you to the dressing-room?”
 
“Our colleen’s one of them good-natured kind that wakes up wide to-once and laughin’,” had been big Bridget’s boast even when her charge was but an infant, nor had the little girl her very sensible babyish custom. She responded to the stranger’s greeting with a merry smile and “Good morning!” and was instantly ready for whatever was to come.
 
She was full of wonder over the little apartment which all the women travellers used in succession as a , and it may be that this wonder made her submit without to the rather clumsy brushing of her curls which Red Kimono attempted.
 
“’Xcuse me, that isn’t the way mamma or big Bridget does. They put me in the bath, first off; then my hair, and then my clothes.[22] Haven’t you got any little girls to your house, Red Kimono?” inquired the young traveller.
 
“No, dear, I haven’t even a house;” answered the lady, rather sadly. “But your own dear mamma would have to forego the bath on a railway sleeper, so let’s make haste and give the other people their rightful use of this place.”
 
By this time several women had collected in the narrow passage leading to the dressing-room, and were watching through the crack of its door till Josephine’s toilet should be completed and their own chance could come.
 
“What makes all them folks out there look so cross, dear Red Kimono?”
 
“Selfishness, dearie. And hunger. First come best fed, on a railway dining-car, I fancy. There. You look quite fresh and nice. Let us go at once.”
 
As they passed down the aisle where Bob was swiftly and making the sections ready for the day’s occupancy, Josephine was inclined to pause and watch him, but was[23] hurried by her new friend, who advised:
 
“Don’t loiter, Josephine. If we don’t get to table we’ll miss our seats. Hurry, please.”
 
“Are you one of the selfish-hungry ones, Mrs. Red Kimono?”
 
The lady flushed, and was about to make an indignant reply, but reflected that indignation would be wasted on such a little person as this.
 
“It may be that I am, child. Certainly I am hungry, and so should you be. I don’t remember seeing you at supper last night.”
 
“I had my supper with Doctor Mack before we started. Oh, he was nice to me that time. He gave me turkey and mince-pie, and—and everything that was on the bill of fare that I wanted, so’s I wouldn’t cry. He said I’d be sick, but he didn’t mind that so long as I didn’t cry. He hates crying people, Doctor Mack does. He likes mamma ’cause she’s so brave. Once my papa was a soldier, and he’s a Company F man now; but most he’s a ’lectrickeller,[24] and has to go away to the funny pickle place to earn the money for mamma and me. So then she and me never cry once. We just keep on laughing like we didn’t mind, even if we do hate to say good-by to papa for so long a while. I said I wouldn’t cry, not on all this car ride; never, not at all. I—maybe I forgot, though. Did I cry last night, Mrs. Red Kimono?”
 
“Possibly, just a little; not worth mentioning. Here, dear, climb into this chair,” was the lady’s hasty reply.
 
“What a cute table! Just like hotel ones, only littler. It’s dreadful wobbly, though. It makes my head feel funny. I—oh! I’m—I guess—I’m sick!”
 
The lady shivered quite as visibly as poor Josephine. The dining-car was the last one of the long train, and swayed from side to side in a very unpleasant manner. The motion did not improve anybody’s appetite, and the grown-up traveller was now with herself for befriending the childish one.
 
“She was nothing to me. Why should I[25] break over my fixed rules of looking out for number one and minding my own business? Well, I’ll get through this meal somehow, and then rid my hands of the matter. I’m not the only woman in our car. Let some of the others take a chance. The idea! sending a little thing like that to travel alone. It’s —perfectly preposterous.”
 
Unconsciously she finished her thought aloud, and Josephine heard her, and asked:
 
“What does it mean, that big word, Mrs. Kimono?”
 
“It means—my name is—isn’t—no matter. Are you better? Can you eat? It’s small wonder you were upset after the supper that foolish doctor gave you. What is your breakfast at home?”
 
“Oatmeal and fruit. Sometimes, if I’m good, some meat and potato.”
 
“I will order it for you.”
 
“Thank you, but I can order for myself. Mamma always allows me to. She wishes me to be myself, not anybody else,” returned the child.
 
“Oh, indeed! Then do so.”
 
[26]Josephine recognized from the lady’s tone that she had given offence, though didn’t know why. Now, it was another of her wise mother’s rules that her little daughter should punish herself when any punishment was needed. Opinions didn’t always agree upon the subject, yet, as a rule, the child could be trusted to deal with her own faults more sternly than anybody else would do. She realized that here was a case in point, and, though the steak and potatoes which Red Kimono ordered for herself looked very , asked only for oatmeal and milk, “without any sugar, if you please, boy.”
 
The lady frowned inquiringly.
 
“Are you still ill, Josephine?”
 
“No, Mrs. Kimono.”
 
“Aren’t you hungry?”
 
“Dreadful.” Indeed, the hunger was evident enough.
 
“Then why don’t you take some food? If you’re bashful— Yet you’re certainly not that. If you’re hungry, child, for goodness sake eat.”
 
[27]“It’s for goodness sake I can’t. I daren’t. It wouldn’t be right. Maybe I can eat my dinner. Maybe.”
 
Tears were very near the big brown eyes, but the sweet little face was turned away from the table toward the window and the sights outside. One spoonful of unsweetened, flavorless meal was down, and the trembling lips remarked:
 
“It’s all begun again, hasn’t it?”
 
“What’s begun, Josephine?”
 
“The all-out-doors to go by and by us, like it did last night.”
 
“It is we who are going by the ‘all-out-doors,’ dear. The train moves, the landscape stands still. Were you never on the cars before?” inquired the lady.
 
“Never, not in all my whole life.”
 
“Indeed! But that’s not been such a long time, after all.”
 
Another brave effort at the plain breakfast, and the answer came:
 
“It’s pretty long to me. It seems—forever since yesterday!”
 
[28]The lady could not endure the sight of Josephine’s evident and softly slipped a of juicy steak upon the oatmeal saucer. With gaze still the spoon came down into the dish, picked up the morsel, and conveyed it to the reluctant mouth. The red lips closed, , opened, and the child faced about. With her napkin to hide the movement she carefully replaced the morsel on the empty plate beside the saucer and said, reproachfully:
 
“You oughtn’t to done that, Mrs. Kimono. Don’t you s’pose it’s bad enough to be just starved, almost, and not be ? That’s like big Bridget; and my mamma has to speak right sharp to her, she has. Quite often, too. Once it was pudding, and I—I ate it. Then I had to do myself sorry all over again. Please ’xcuse me.”
 
“You strange child! Yes, I will excuse you. I’m leaving table myself. You mustn’t attempt to go back through the train to our car alone. Eh? What? Beg pardon?” she said, turning around.
 
[29]An official in uniform was respectfully addressing the lady:
 
“Pardon, madam, but I think this must be my little ‘Parcel.’ I’ve been looking for her. Did you have your breakfast, little girl?”
 
“Yes, thank you,” she answered.
 
“I hope you enjoyed it.”
 
“I didn’t much,” was her frank reply to this kind wish.
 
“Why, wasn’t it right? Here, waiter! I want you to take this young lady under your special care. See that she has the best of everything, and is served promptly, no matter who else waits. It’s a point of honor with the service, madam,” he explained to the wondering lady beside them.
 
“The service? Beg pardon, but I don’t understand. The child seemed to be alone and I tried to look after her a bit.”
 
“Thank you for doing so, I’m sure. The Express Service, I refer to. I’m the train agent between San Diego and Chicago; she is under my care. There the agent of the other line takes her in charge. She’s billed[30] through to Baltimore and no expense is to be spared by anybody concerned, that she makes the trip in safety and the greatest possible comfort. We flatter ourselves, madam, that our company can fix the thing as it should be. She’s not the first little human ‘parcel’ we’ve handled successfully. Is there anything you’d like, Miss”—
 
He paused, pulled a notebook from his pocket, discovered her name, and concluded:
 
“Miss Josephine Smith?”
 
“Smith, Josephine Smith, singular!” murmured Mrs. Kimono, under her breath. “But not so singular after all. Smith is not an name, nor Baltimore the only city where Smiths reside.”
 
Meanwhile the express agent had taken Josephine’s hand in his, and was carefully guiding her back through the many carriages to the one where she belonged. His statement that Doctor Mack had put her into his care made her consider him an old friend, and loosened her tongue accordingly.
 
Porter Bob received her with a smile, and[31] asked if he had arranged her half of the section to her pleasure; out that Rudanthy’s attire had been duly brushed, and begged her not to hesitate about ringing for him whenever she needed him.
 
By this time Mrs. Upper Berth, as the child mentally called her, had returned from her own breakfast and proved to be “not half so cross as you sounded, are you?”
 
To which the lady replied with a laugh and the assurance that tired people were apt to be a “little crisp,” then added:
 
“But I’ve heard all about you now, my dear; and I’m glad to have as section-mate such a dainty little ‘parcel.’ I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends before we reach our parting-place at Chicago.”
 
So they proved to be. So, indeed, did everybody in the car. “Little Parcel” was made so much of by the grown-up travellers that she might have been spoiled had the journey continued longer than it did. But at Chicago a change was made. The express agent put her into a carriage, and whisked her away to[32] another station, another train, and a new, strange set of people. Not a face with which she had become familiar during the first stage of her long journey was visible. Even Bob had disappeared, and in his stead was a gray-haired porter who at each of the demands, such as it had become natural for her to make upon the friendly Bob.
 
There was no Red Kimono in the section opposite; not even a be-spectacled Upper Berth lady to make whimsical comments on her neighbors; and the new agent to whom she had been transferred looked cross, as if he were in a dreadful hurry and hated to be bothered. Altogether things were changed for the worse, and Josephine’s heart would perhaps have broken if it hadn’t been for the dear companionship of Rudanthy, who smiled and slept in a waxen manner that was restfully familiar.
 
Besides, all journeys have an end; and the six days’ trip of the little San Diegan came to its own before the door of a stately , gay with the red brick and white marble which[33] mark most Baltimore homes, and the ring of an electric bell that the expressman touched:
 
“A ‘parcel’ for Joseph Smith. Billed from San Diego, Cal. Live here, eh?”
 
It was a colored man in livery who replied:
 
“Yes, suh. Mister Joseph Smith, he done live here, suh.”
 
“Sign, please. That is, if you can write.”
 
“Course I can write. I signs parcels for Mister Smith, suh. Where’s the parcel at, suh?” returned the liveried negro.
 
“Sign. I’ll fetch it,” came the prompt answer.
 
Old Peter signed, being the trusted and trustworthy servant of his master, and returned the book to the agent’s hands, who himself returned to the carriage, lifted out Josephine and Rudanthy, conveyed them up the steps, and left them to their fate.