"They ain't on the bureau and they ain't on the washstand, and I disremember takin' 'em out last night when I went to bed, so I must have swallered 'em." Grandmother's speech was somewhat blurred but her meaning was distinct.

"Well," returned Matilda, with aggravating calmness, "if you have swallowed 'em, you have, so what of it?"

"Matilda Starr! I should think you'd have some human feelin's about you somewheres. Here your mother's gone and swallered her false teeth and you set there, not tryin' to do anything for her."

"What can I do? I can't stand on a chair and swing you by your feet, same as Mis' Bates did when her little Henry choked on a marble, can I? Besides, you couldn't have swallowed 'em. You'll find 'em somewheres."

"Maybe I couldn't have swallered 'em, but I have," Grandmother mumbled. "What's more, I feel 'em workin' now inside me. They're chewing on the linin' of my stomach, and it hurts."

"I didn't know there was any linin' in your stomach."

"There is. It said so in the paper."

"Did it say anything about hooks and eyes and whalebones? What kind of a linin' is it—cambric, or drillin'?"

"I don't see how you can set there, Matilda, and make fun of your poor old mother, when she's bein' eaten alive by her own teeth. I wouldn't treat a dog like that, much less my own flesh and blood."

"I've never heard of dogs bein' et by their own teeth," commented Matilda, missing the point.

Ostentatiously lame, Grandmother limped to the decrepit sofa and lay down with a groan. Rosemary came in from the kitchen with the oatmeal, and was about to go back for the coffee when another groan arrested her attention.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I'm dyin', Rosemary," Grandmother mumbled, hoarsely. "I've swallered my teeth, and I am dyin' in agony."

"Nonsense! You couldn't have swallowed your teeth!"

"That's what I told her," said Miss Matilda, triumphantly.

"But I have," Grandmother retorted, feebly. "I can feel 'em—here." She placed her hand upon her ill-defined waist line, and groaned again.

Rosemary ran up-stairs, inspired to unusual speed by the heartrending sounds that came from below. When she returned, Grandmother seemed to be in a final spasm, and even Matilda was frightened, though she would not have admitted it.

"Here," said Rosemary. "Now come to breakfast."

Grandmother rolled her eyes helplessly toward Rosemary, then suddenly sat up. "Where'd you get 'em?" she demanded, in a different tone.

"They were on the floor under the washstand. Please come before everything gets cold."

"I told you you hadn't swallowed 'em," remarked Matilda, caustically.

"Maybe I didn't, but I might have," rejoined Grandmother. "Anyhow, I've seen how you'd all act in case I had swallered 'em, and I know who to leave my money to when I die." She beamed kindly upon Rosemary, in whom the mention of money had produced mingled emotions of anger and resentment.

"If you had swallowed 'em, Rosemary couldn't have got 'em," Matilda objected.

"She'd have tried," said the old lady, sharply, "and that's more than can be said of some folks. Not mentionin' any names."

Breakfast bade fair to be a lively sparring match when Rosemary interposed, pacifically: "Never mind what might have been. Let's be glad she didn't swallow them." As the others accepted this compromise, the remainder of the meal proceeded in comparative peace.

"I heard from the milkman this morning," said Matilda, "that Marshs' company has gone."

"Gone!" repeated Grandmother. "What for? I thought she had come to stay a spell."

"Gone!" echoed Rosemary, in astonishment.

"Did she go sudden?" queried Grandmother.

"Well, in a way it was sudden, and in a way 'twasn't. She was more'n a whole day puttin' her clothes into her trunks—the respectable trunk, and the big trunk, and the dog-house, and the one what had bulges on all sides but one."

"What train did she go on?"

"The eight o'clock accommodation, yesterday morning. Young Marsh went down to see her off, and the station agent told the milkman that he stood lookin' after the train until you couldn't even see the smoke from the engine. The agent was restin' after havin' helped hist the trunks on the train, and young Marsh up and handed him out a dollar, without even sayin' what it was for. He reckoned it was pay for stoppin' the train and helpin' to put on the trunks, but the railroad pays him for doin' that, so the milkman thinks it was kind of a thank-offerin', on account of her havin' stayed so long that they was glad to get rid of her."

"'Twasn't no thank-offerin'," replied Grandmother, shaking her head sagely. "That's what they call a tip."

"The agent was some upset by it," Matilda agreed. "He's been keepin' station here for more'n ten years now and nobody ever did the likes of that before."

"I didn't say it was an upsetment—I said it was a tip."

"What's the difference?"

"A tip is money that you give somebody who thinks he's done something for you, whether you think he has or not."

"I don't understand," Matilda muttered.

"I didn't either, at first," Grandmother admitted, "but I was readin' a piece in the paper about women travellin' alone and it said that 'in order to insure comfort, a tip should be given for every slight service.' Them's the very words."

"It means bowin', then," returned Matilda. "Bowin' and sayin', 'Thank you.'"

"It's no such thing. Wait till I get the paper."

After a prolonged search through the hoarded treasures of the past three or four months, Grandmother came back to her chair by the window, adjusted her spectacles, and began to read "The Lady Traveller by Land."

"'When it becomes necessary, for the sake of either business or pleasure, for a lady to start out upon a trip alone, no matter how short, she should make all her preparations well in advance, so that she need not be hurried just before starting, and may embark upon her journey with that peaceful and contented mind which is so essential to the true enjoyment of travelling.

"'She will, of course, travel with the smallest amount of baggage compatible with comfort, but a few small articles that should not be overlooked will more than repay the slight trouble caused by their transportation. Among these may be mentioned the medicine chest, in which are a few standard household remedies for illness or accident, a bottle of smelling-salts, another of cologne, and a roll of old linen for bandages. While accident is not at all likely, it is just as well to be prepared for all emergencies.

"'The lady traveller will naturally carry her own soap and towels, and also a silk or cotton bag for her hat. She——'"

"A what for her hat?" asked Matilda, with unmistakable interest.

"'A silk or cotton bag for her hat,'" Grandmother repeated. "'To keep the dust out.'"

"What's the good of wearin' a hat if she's got to set with a bag over it?"

"It doesn't say she's to wear the bag."

"Well, she's wearin' the hat, ain't she? How's she to put the bag over the hat while she's wearin' the hat without wearin' the bag too? That's what I'd like to know."

"Maybe it's to put her hat into when she takes it off for the night," Grandmother suggested, hopefully, though she was not at all sure. "A person ain't likely to get much sleep in a hat."

"No, nor in a bag neither."

"'She should also carry her luncheon, as the meals supplied to travellers are either poor or expensive, or both. With a small spirit lamp she can very easily make coffee or tea for herself, or heat a cupful of milk should she be restless in the night. Care should be taken, however, not to set fire to the curtains surrounding the berth in this latter emergency.'

"'The curtains surrounding the berth,'" Grandmother repeated, in a wavering voice. "It's printed wrong. They've got it b-e-r-t-h."

"Seems to me," murmured Matilda, "that a woman who——"

"Matilda!" interrupted Grandmother, imperiously. For a moment the silence was awkward. "Unmarried women ain't got any call to be thinkin' about such things, let alone speakin' of 'em. This piece is written to cover all possible emergencies of the lady traveller, but it ain't for such as you to be askin' questions about what don't concern you."

"Go ahead," said Matilda, submissively.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. 'The ladies' dressing-room will always be found at one of the two ends of the car. Care should be taken early in the journey to ascertain which end. If there are many ladies in the car, one should rise early, to take advantage of the unoccupied room for a cooling and refreshing sponge bath. It will be necessary to carry a sponge for this, and a small bag of rubber or oiled silk should be made for it to prevent moistening the contents of the suit-case after using.'"

"Supposin' they all subscribed for this paper," Matilda objected, "and all should rise early for the cooling and refreshing sponge bath?"

"'Tain't likely," Grandmother answered. "'After the bath one should take plenty of time to dress, as nothing is less conducive to comfort in travelling than the feeling that one has been too hastily attired. By this time, the porter will have the berth in order, if he has been tipped the night before.'"

Matilda murmured inarticulately, but was too wise to speak.

"'The usual tip,'" Grandmother continued, hastily, with her cheeks burning, "'is twenty-five cents for each person every twenty-four hours. In order to insure comfort, a tip should be given for every slight service, but nothing smaller than five cents should ever be given at any one time.

"'It has been said that a porter is a dark gentleman who has been employed to keep air out of the car, but the lady traveller will find it easy to induce him to open a ventilator or two if he has been properly tipped. Fresh air is very essential for the true enjoyment of travelling.

"'He can throw many little comforts in one's way—a pillow during the daytime or an extra blanket at night, or——'"

"I don't know," Matilda interrupted, "as I'd care to have comforts or pillows or blankets thrown at me, night or day, especially by a man, no matter what colour he is."

"'Mindful always of the possibility of accident,'" Grandmother resumed, "'it is well to keep one's self as presentable as possible, especially during the night, when according to statistics the majority of wrecks occur. Consequently the experienced lady traveller will not undress entirely, but merely removing a few of her outer garments, and keeping her shoes within easy reach, she will don a comfortable dressing-gown, and compose herself for sleep. Some people prefer to have the berth made up feet first, but it is always better to have the head toward the engine, as experience has proved that the slight motion of the train assists the circulation, which should run toward the feet if sleep is to be enjoyed during the night.

"'If, owing to circumstances, it is impossible to carry a luncheon and one must either leave the train for one's meals or go into the dining-car, there are a few very simple rules to remember. In case the meal is to be taken at a wayside station, and, as often happens, there is more than one eating-house which offers refreshment, the lady traveller should wait quietly by her own car until she sees into which place the train officials go. Remember that they have been over the road before and know where the most comfortable and reasonable meal is to be had.

"'Upon the other hand, if one goes into the dining-car, the same rules apply as at any well-regulated hotel. From the list of dishes which will be offered her upon a printed card, the lady traveller may select such as seem attractive, and, in case of doubt, she may with perfect propriety ask the waiter to make a selection for her, as he has been placed there by the company for that purpose.

"'Having eaten to her satisfaction, she will carefully compare the check which is brought her with the list of prices given upon the printed card, add them up mentally without seeming to do so, and if all is right, pay the bill, giving to the waiter ten per cent of the total amount for a tip. That is, if the check calls for one dollar, the waiter will receive a dollar and ten cents.'"

"What for?" queried Matilda.

"That's his tip," explained the old lady. "That's what I've been tellin' you all along."

"Does it cost ten dollars to go to the city?"

"Not as I know of. The fare used to be four dollars and somethin'. Why?"

"Then why did young Marsh give the station agent a dollar? That's what I want to know."

"You can't find out from me," Grandmother answered, with all evidence of having told the literal truth. "Shall I go on with this piece I'm tryin' to read, or don't you want your mind improved none?"

"I'm willing to have my mind improved, but I'd like the privilege of askin' a question occasionally while it's being done."

"Last week's paper said there was no way of improvin' the mind that was to be compared with readin'. Shall I go on?"

"Yes—go on."

"'If the check calls for a dollar and a half, the waiter will receive an extra fifteen cents for his tip, and so on. In case of any disagreement, always refer to the train officials, who are usually courteous and well-mannered. Should they not be so, however, a threat to write to the President of the railroad will usually be found all sufficient to produce a change of demeanour.

"'The lady traveller should bear in mind the fact that it is impossible to confine the pleasures and privileges of travel to entirely reputable persons, and should hence keep upon the safe side by making no chance acquaintances, whatever the provocation may be.

"'By wearing dark clothes, preferably her old ones, an unassuming hat, and no jewelry, the lady traveller may render herself inconspicuous and not likely to attract masculine attention. In case of accident it is allowable to accept assistance from anyone, though the train officials are at all times to be preferred. If one desires to know what time it is, how late the train is, how long the train will stop at the next meal station, or when one is due at one's destination, the train officials are the ones to ask.

"'Upon a long and tedious journey, however, or in case of many prolonged delays, it is quite permissible to exchange a few words upon the weather or some other topic of mutual interest with a fellow-passenger of the same sex, whether she be travelling alone, or accompanied by her husband.

"'Pleasant acquaintances are sometimes formed in this way, and it may be entirely safe and proper, under certain circumstances, to accept small courtesies from a gentleman who is travelling with his wife, such as the brief loan of a newspaper or magazine, or information regarding the scenery through which the train is passing when none of the train officials are at hand.

"'It is best, however, to be very careful, for it is much easier not to begin friendly relations with one's fellow passengers than it is to discontinue such relations after they have been once begun.

"'It is seldom necessary, or even advisable, to give one's name to anyone except the officials of the train, but there can be no objection to showing a fellow-passenger of the same sex one's name upon one's ticket if polite relations have been established. This is better than speaking the name aloud, which might cause embarrassment if it were overheard, and carries with it no such social obligation as the exchange of cards would do.

"'Arriving at her destination, the lady traveller should proceed at once to her hotel or lodging-house, if no friend is to meet her, regardless of the plans of her fellow passengers. If one should chance to meet any of them afterward, a courteous inclination of the head, accompanied by a bright smile, is sufficient recognition, or, if for any reason one prefers not to recognise those with whom one has travelled, all that is necessary is to appear not to see them.

"'In case a gentleman should attempt to converse with the lady traveller while the train is in motion or at rest, this same conduct meets the exigencies of the situation admirably: simply do not appear to see him. If, however, he continues to converse, turn to him, and say in a low, well-controlled voice: "Sir, if you persist further in forcing your unwelcome attentions upon me, I shall summon the conductor at once."

"'In most cases, the objectionable party will at once leave and the interference of the conductor will not be required.

"'The next article in this series will deal with "The Lady Traveller by Water," where conditions are entirely different and require a different line of conduct.'"

"There," said Grandmother, clearing her throat and folding up the paper. "I hope you understand now what a tip is."

"It seems to be one tenth of all you've got," observed Matilda, staring out of the window, "like those religious sects that believes in givin' a tenth of everything to the church."

"Travellin' must be terribly exciting," remarked Grandmother, pensively.

"So 'tis," Matilda agreed after a pause. "I reckon it's better to stay at home."