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, "Here's a bloomin' go!" and Roberta burst into tears.
The other man said he was blooming well blest,—or something like it, but though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind.
"You're a naughty little gell, that's what you are," said the fireman, and the engine-driver said:—
"Daring little piece, I call her," 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, directly minute.
She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing hat helped her was the thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her place—on a rea engine—really going. The children had often wondered whether any engine-driver could be found noble enough to take them for a ride on an engine,—and now there she was. She dried her eyes and sniffed earnestly.
"Now, then," said the fireman, "out with it. What do you mean by it, eh?"
