Remember, this is
your first battle. So, eyes front! charge bayonets! quick step! forward,
_march_!"
The train had stopped. They were on the platform. Mr. Graham led Hilda
up to a stout, motherly-looking woman, who held out her hand with a
beaming smile.
"Here is my daughter, Mrs. Hartley!" he said, hastily. "You will take
good care of her, I know. My darling, good-by! I go on to Dashford, and
home by return train in an hour. God bless you, my Hilda! Courage! Up,
Guards, and at them! Remember Waterloo!" and he was gone. The engine
shrieked an unearthly "Good-by!" and the train rumbled away, leaving
Hilda gazing after it through a mist which only her strong will
prevented from dissolving in tears.
"Well, my dear," said Dame Hartley's cheery voice, "your papa's gone,
and you must not stand here and fret after him. Here is old Nancy
shaking her head, and wondering why she does not get home to her dinner.
Do you get into the cart, and I will get the station-master to put your
trunk in for us."
Hilda obeyed in silence; and climbing into the neat wagon, took her seat
and looked about her while Dame Hartley bustled off in search of the
station-master. There was not very much to look at at Glenfield station.
The low wooden building with its long platform stood on a bare spot of
ground, from which the trees all stood back, as if to mark their
disapproval of the railway and all that belonged to it. The sandy soil
made little attempt to produce vegetation, but put out little humps of
rock occasionally, to show what it could do.
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