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a leg of mutton.

ā€œIf you please,ā€ said Robertaā ā€”but the engine was blowing off steam and no one heard her.

ā€œIf you please, Mr. Engineer,ā€ she spoke a little louder, but the engine happened to speak at the same moment, and of course Robertaā€™s soft little voice hadnā€™t a chance.

It seemed to her that the only way would be to climb on to the engine and pull at their coats. The step was high, but she got her knee on it, and clambered into the cab; she stumbled and fell on hands and knees on the base of the great heap of coals that led up to the square opening in the tender. The engine was not above the weaknesses of its fellows; it was making a great deal more noise than there was the slightest need for. And just as Roberta fell on the coals, the engine-driver, who had turned without seeing her, started the engine, and when Bobbie had picked herself up, the train was movingā ā€”not fast, but much too fast for her to get off.

All sorts of dreadful thoughts came to her all together in one horrible flash. There were such things as express trains that went on, she supposed, for hundreds of miles without stopping. Suppose this should be one of them? How would she get home again? She had no money to pay for the return journey.

ā€œAnd Iā€™ve no business here. Iā€™m an engine-burglarā ā€”thatā€™s what I am,ā€ she thought. ā€œI shouldnā€™t wonder if they could lock me up for this.ā€ And the train was going faster and faster.

There was something in her throat that made it impossible for her to speak. She tried twice. The men had their backs to her. They were doing something to things that looked like taps.

Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold of the nearest sleeve. The man turned with a start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute looking at each other in silence. Then the silence was broken by them both.

The man said, ā€œHereā€™s a bloominā€™ go!ā€ and Roberta burst into tears.

The other man said he was blooming well blestā ā€”or something like itā ā€”but though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind.

ā€œYouā€™re a naughty little gell, thatā€™s what you are,ā€ said the fireman, and the engine-driver said:ā ā€”

ā€œDaring little piece, I call her,ā€ but they made her sit down on an iron seat in the cab and told her to stop crying and tell them what she meant by it.

She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing that helped her was the thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her placeā ā€”on a real engineā ā€”really going. The children had often wondered whether any engine-driver could be found noble enough to take them for a ride on an engineā ā€”and now there she was. She dried her eyes and sniffed earnestly.

ā€œNow, then,ā€ said the fireman, ā€œout with it. What do you mean by it, eh?ā€

ā€œOh, please,ā€ sniffed Bobbie.

ā€œTry again,ā€ said the engine-driver, encouragingly.

Bobbie tried again.

ā€œPlease, Mr. Engineer,ā€ she said, ā€œI did call out to you from the line, but you didnā€™t hear meā ā€”and I just climbed up to touch you on the armā ā€”quite gently I meant to do itā ā€”and then I fell into the coalsā ā€”and I am so sorry if I frightened you. Oh, donā€™t be crossā ā€”oh, please donā€™t!ā€ She sniffed again.

ā€œWe ainā€™t so much cross,ā€ said the fireman, ā€œas interested like. It ainā€™t every day a little gell tumbles into our coal bunker outer the sky, is it, Bill? What did you do it forā ā€”eh?ā€

ā€œThatā€™s the point,ā€ agreed the engine-driver; ā€œwhat did you do it for?ā€

Bobbie found that she had not quite stopped crying. The engine-driver patted her on the back and said: ā€œHere, cheer up, Mate. It ainā€™t so bad as all that ā€™ere, Iā€™ll be bound.ā€

ā€œI wanted,ā€ said Bobbie, much cheered to find herself addressed as ā€˜Mateā€™ā ā€”ā€œI only wanted to ask you if youā€™d be so kind as to mend this.ā€ She picked up the brown-paper parcel from among the coals and undid the string with hot, red fingers that trembled.

Her feet and legs felt the scorch of the engine fire, but her shoulders felt the wild chill rush of the air. The engine lurched and shook and rattled, and as they shot under a bridge the engine seemed to shout in her ears.

The fireman shovelled on coals.

Bobbie unrolled the brown paper and disclosed the toy engine.

ā€œI thought,ā€ she said wistfully, ā€œthat perhaps youā€™d mend this for meā ā€”because youā€™re an engineer, you know.ā€

The engine-driver said he was blowed if he wasnā€™t blest.

ā€œIā€™m blest if I ainā€™t blowed,ā€ remarked the fireman.

But the engine-driver took the little engine and looked at itā ā€”and the fireman ceased for an instant to shovel coal, and looked, too.

ā€œItā€™s like your precious cheek,ā€ said the engine-driverā ā€”ā€œwhatever made you think weā€™d be bothered tinkering penny toys?ā€

ā€œI didnā€™t mean it for precious cheek,ā€ said Bobbie; ā€œonly everybody that has anything to do with railways is so kind and good, I didnā€™t think youā€™d mind. You donā€™t reallyā ā€”do you?ā€ she added, for she had seen a not unkindly wink pass between the two.

ā€œMy tradeā€™s driving of an engine, not mending her, especially such a hout-size in engines as this ā€™ere,ā€ said Bill. ā€œAnā€™ ā€™ow are we a-goinā€™ to get you back to your sorrowing friends and relations, and all be forgiven and forgotten?ā€

ā€œIf youā€™ll put me down next time you stop,ā€ said Bobbie, firmly, though her heart beat fiercely against her arm as she clasped her hands, ā€œand lend me the money for a third-class ticket, Iā€™ll pay you backā ā€”honour bright. Iā€™m not a confidence trick like in the newspapersā ā€”really, Iā€™m not.ā€

ā€œYouā€™re a little lady, every inch,ā€ said Bill, relenting suddenly and completely. ā€œWeā€™ll see you gets home safe. Anā€™ about this engineā ā€”Jimā ā€”ainā€™t you got neā€™er a pal as can use a soldering iron? Seems to me thatā€™s about all the little bounder wants doing to it.ā€

ā€œThatā€™s what Father said,ā€ Bobbie explained eagerly. ā€œWhatā€™s that for?ā€

She pointed to a little brass wheel that he had

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