Among those who looked out of the window, and witnessed granny’s frantic gesticulations was Tom.

“Aint that rich?” she uttered, in high delight.

“What’s the matter?” asked an old lady, who sat just in front, bending over and speaking to Tom.

“It’s my granny,” said Tom, laughing afresh. “She’s left behind. You ought to see her shakin’ her fist at the cars.”

“Are you laughing at your grandmother’s disappointment?” asked the old lady’s daughter, a prim-visaged maiden lady. “For shame, child!”

“I’m glad to get rid of her,” said Tom, coolly. “She aint my granny; she only pretends to be.”

“Hasn’t she had the care of you?”

“No,” said Tom. “I’ve had the care of her. She took all the money I earned, and spent it for rum.”

“What are you going to do?” inquired the old maid.

“I don’t know,” said Tom, her attention being now first called to the embarrassment of her situation. She was nearly eighty miles from New York, and this distance was fast increasing. She had no railway ticket and no money. What was she to do?

“Have you had any supper, child?” asked the old lady.

“No,” answered Tom. “Granny went out to get some.”

“Priscilla,” said the old lady, “haven’t you got some of them cookies left?”

“Yes, ma,” said the daughter.

“You’d better give some of them to the child.”

The younger lady took several hard seed-cakes from a paper bag, and offered them to Tom, who accepted and ate them with avidity.

Meanwhile she was considering what was best to be done. She wanted to get back to New York, where she felt at home. Then she could go back to Mrs. Murphy’s, whom she had paid for a week’s board in advance. She had no money, for granny had forcibly taken from her what she had left after paying for her dinner. How she was to get back seemed rather a problem. One thing, however, appeared evident: every moment carried her farther away from the city. So Tom concluded that the sooner she got off, the better.

When the cars reached the next stopping-place, Tom got up and went to the door.

“Where are you going?” asked the old lady.

“I’m going to look out,” answered Tom, fearing that some impediment might be placed in her way.

“Don’t you get off, or you may get lost too.”

“All right.”

Tom stepped on the platform, and, quietly jumping from the cars, ran round the depot, to escape notice. The stop was a short one, and directly she heard the noise of the departing train. When it was fairly on the way, Tom began to look around her and consider her situation.

It was a small station, and there was scarcely a house near the depot. It was already twilight, and to Tom, who was accustomed to the crowded city, it appeared very lonely and desolate. She knew not where she should pass the night. She had often been in that position in the city, and it did not trouble her. Here, however, she was rather startled at the unwonted solitude. Besides, being wholly ignorant of the country, it occurred to her that she might meet some wild animal prowling around.

Just as this thought came into her mind, she saw advancing towards her a cow, followed by a farmer’s boy, about two years older than herself. Now Tom was brave enough constitutionally, but this was the first cow she had ever seen, and the branching horns led her to suppose it fierce and dangerous, like a lion, for example.

She rushed with headlong speed to a stone wall and climbed over.

“Ho! ho!” laughed the boy; “are you afraid of a cow?”

“Won’t she kill me?” asked Tom, a little reassured.

“She wouldn’t kill a fly. Didn’t you ever see a cow afore?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Tom. “I thought it was something like a lion.”

“Where’ve you lived all your life?” asked the boy, astonished at Tom’s greenness, as he considered it.

“In New York.”

“I thought everybody’d seen cows. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” answered Tom.

“You aint stoppin’ to Doctor Simpson’s, be you?”

“I’m stoppin’ on this fence,” said Tom, rather humorously.

“Taint a fence; it’s a stone wall.”

“What’s the odds?”

“How did you come here?”

“By the cars,” said Tom. “I got left.”

“You did? Where are you going to sleep to-night?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s a tavern in the village.”

“What’s that?”

“A tavern. Don’t you know? A hotel.”

“I haven’t got any money.”

“That’s queer,” said the boy, staring. “Where are you goin’ to sleep?”

“On the grass,” said Tom; “only I’m afraid of the wild animals.”

“Pooh! there aint no wild animals round here. But you mustn’t sleep out-doors. You’ll catch cold. If you’ll come home with me, mother’ll let you sleep in our house.”

“Thank you,” said Tom. “You’re a brick.”

“You talk queer for a girl. What’s your name?”

“Tom.”

“Tom? That’s a boy’s name.”

“They call me so. My right name is Jane.”

“Well, Jane, come along, and I’ll show you where we live.”

The two walked together, soon becoming sociable. The boy, James Hooper, was amazed at Tom’s ignorance of the most common things pertaining to country life, but found that in other ways she was sharp enough.

“You talk just like a boy,” he said.

“Do I?” said Tom. “I used to wish I was a boy, but I don’t know now. I think I’d like to grow up a lady,—a tip-top one, you know,—and dress fine.”

“Are all the girls in New York like you?” asked James, curiously.

“No,” said Tom. “There’s Mary Merton, she isn’t a bit like me. This is the way she walks,” and Tom imitated Mary’s languid, mincing gait.

“I like you best,” said JohnJohn. “But here we are. Do you see that house down the lane?”

“Yes,” said Tom.

“That’s where we live.”

It was a large, square, comfortable farm-house, such as we often see in farming towns. The farmer’s wife, a stout, comely woman, stood at the door.

“Who’ve you got with you, James?” she asked.

“It’s a girl that got left by the train,” said James. “She’s got no money to pay for her lodging. I told her you would let her sleep here.”

“Of course I will. Come right in, child. How did you get left?”

“I just got out a minute,” said Tom, “and the cars went off and left me.”

“What a pity! Who was travelling with you?”

“My granny,” answered Tom.

“What’ll she do? She’ll be very much frightened.”

“I expect she will,” said Tom, who had made up her mind not to tell too much.

“Were you going back to the city?”

Tom answered in the affirmative. I do not mean to defend the lie, for a lie it was, but I have not represented Tom as perfect in any respect. In the future she will improve, I hope, when placed under more favorable circumstances. Her object in saying what she did was to prevent any opposition being made to her return to the city.

“You haven’t had any supper, have you?” asked Mrs. Hooper.

“I ate a few cakes,” answered Tom.

“That isn’t hearty enough for a growing girl,” said the good woman. “You must take some supper with us.”

The family supper had been eaten, but a tempting array of dishes was soon set before Tom, whose appetite was always ready to answer any reasonable demands upon it.

In the evening Tom’s best course was discussed. She expressed a strong desire to return at once to the city, saying she would be all right there.

“If your grandmother would not feel anxious about you,” said Mrs. Hooper, “we should be glad to have you stop with us a day or two.”

“I guess I’d better go back,” said Tom, for, knowing that granny had been left by the cars only five miles away, she was under some apprehensions that she might find her way thither.

“You can take the nine-o’clock train to-morrow morning,” said James, “and get to the city before night.”

“Before night? She’ll get there by one o’clock,” said his mother.

“I haven’t got any money to buy a ticket,” said Tom.

“We will lend you the necessary amount,” said the farmer, “farmer, “and your grandmother can pay it back whenever it is convenient.”

Tom felt a little reluctant to accept this money, for she knew that there was no hope of repayment by granny; but she determined to accept it, and work hard till she could herself save up money enough to pay the debt incurred. She felt grateful to the farmer’s family for their kindness, and was resolved that they should not suffer by it.

In the evening they gathered in the plain sitting-room, covered with a rag-carpet. Tom helped James make a kite. She was ignorant, but learned readily. In her interest, she occasionally let slip some street phrases which rather surprised James, who was led to wonder whether Tom was a fair specimen of New York girls. He had always fancied that he should feel bashful in their society; but with Tom he felt perfectly at home.

In the morning he accompanied Tom to the depot, and paid for her ticket, being supplied with money for the purpose by his mother.

“Good-by,” he said, shaking her hand as she entered the cars.

“Good-by, old fellow,” said Tom. “I’ll pay you back that money if granny don’t.”

The train started and was soon whirling along at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Half-way between this and the next station they passed a train bound in an opposite direction. Looking through the window on the side towards the other train, Tom caught a glimpse of granny’s face. The old woman had been compelled to stop till morning, and had taken the first train bound westward. She did not see Tom, who quickly moved her head from the window.

“Sold again!” thought Tom, in high delight. “When granny catches me again, she’ll know it.”