noon train for Boston. I think I will go East instead of West for this vacation.”
Once he had started on his journey he began to realize how truly he had longed to go back. The miles seemed to crawl, he stood on the platform and counted the white posts and wondered why they did not go by faster. He seemed to have been travelling a week by the time they reached Albany ; he was utterly worn out with impatience when at last they steamed into Boston.
Having an hour or so to wait he went down to Atlantic Avenue, just to see the fish markets and the rows of schooners lying at the piers, to listen to the splash of the rising tide. He found the place so fascinating that he nearly missed his train, but managed to catch it at the last minute, and sped away on the final stage of his journey.
“Rockford?” said the conductor, looking at his ticket, “we don’t run as far as that at this season of the year. We stop at Piscataqua, and there is only one train a day from there until the summer rush begins. I don’t think you can make connections; you will have to stop over.”
