Part 2

"In a minute or two," replied she; "and this, no doubt, was the reason the whistle gave a signal, to warn any one, who might chance to be in the tunnel to get out of the way before the train went in. And this noise, disagreeable as it is, makes an excellent signal, it is heard at so great a distance; and it is so unlike all other sounds that it can never be mistaken."

"And how can they make such a long hole, and so large too! big enough for the train to pass through?"

"They begin," said his father, "by digging into the hill at both ends, the end at which we came in, and the end at which we shall soon go out, and they carry away the earth in wheelbarrows as they go on."

"What a quantity of ground there must be to wheel away!" said Willy; "and are we very low under ground now?"

"We have not gone down," replied his father; "but then the hill is high above our heads, much higher than a house."

"Oh dear!" cried Willy, "if the hill were to fall upon us, would it not crush us to death?"

"Certainly it would, but there is no danger of that. Were you ever afraid that the ceiling of a room would fall down, and kill you?"

"Oh no," said Willy, laughing, "I never thought of such a thing."

"Because it never happens," said his father; "nor does it happen to a hill to fall down into a tunnel. Builders, who understand how to build houses, and engineers, who know how to make tunnels, take care to construct them in such a manner that they shall not fall."

"I think, Mamma," said Willy, "that we are getting near the end of the tunnel, for I see a little light."

"That glimmering of light," said his father, "comes from a hole which has been made from the top of the hill, and is called a _shaft_. When a tunnel is very long, it is so difficult to get rid of the earth that it is found easier to take it away from the middle part of the tunnel, by pulling it up through a shaft, or well."

"Then," said Willy, "they dig a shaft just as they dig a well, I suppose, only they bring up baskets full of earth instead of water. I remember seeing the well dug in our garden."

"Then you must have observed, that when they first began to dig the well they brought up earth; it was not till they had dug down to a spring of water that they brought up water."

"These shafts have also the advantage of letting light and air into the tunnel."

"It is but very little," replied Willy, "for I could hardly have seen you and Mamma, if it had not been for the little lamp at the top of the carriage."

"Now, Willy," said his mother, "I think you will soon see us by daylight, for we are coming to the end of the tunnel. Mind that you look at the sides of the tunnel before we leave it."

The daylight increased every instant, and Willy saw that the sides of the tunnel as well as the arch overhead were built of bricks.

"Just like the brick walls of a house," said he; "if I had known that, I should not have been afraid of the hill falling upon us and crushing us. I thought the tunnel was only a hole made through the ground."

"In some places," said his father, "that is really the case; but then it is where the ground is made of hard rock, so that it is as strong and even stronger than a brick wall."

"It is like building a house of stone, like our country house, instead of bricks, like our house in London."

"Yes," replied his father, "only the stone walls of a tunnel are not built, they are there all ready made; you have only to cut a road through them."

"How hard it must be to dig through the solid rock! they cannot do it with a spade, can they?"

"No; sometimes they work with a pickaxe, and sometimes they blow up pieces of the rock with gunpowder; but that you are too young to understand."

Just then the train came out of the tunnel, and Willy was quite delighted to see daylight once more. He now began to feel very hungry, and inquired of his Mamma when he should dine?

"We shall very soon arrive at a station," replied she, "where the train will stop for ten minutes, and as I do not think you can eat your dinner in so short a time, I believe that you must dine with us when we reach Derby; you may eat a luncheon at the station, and then you will be able to wait for a late dinner."

To dine in the dining-room with Papa and Mamma was a treat Willy had never yet known, and he could not help jumping about for joy; then recollecting the old lady, he stopped suddenly, fearful of disturbing her; but she observed his forbearance, and said, "Jump on, my lad, in your own corner; I like to see children happy when they are good." But if Willy had not disturbed the old lady, he had awakened the young one, and she awoke in very bad humour; her eyes were so swelled with crying, that Willy scarcely knew her again, and thought she looked ugly rather than pretty. She too was hungry, and said the carriage must turn about and go home to have dinner; her mother promised she should have her dinner very soon, the first time they stopped; so then Harriet made up her mind to grumble and whine until that time arrived. Willy looked at her, and thought what a sad thing it was to be a spoiled child.

OLD AND YOUNG.

The train now arrived at the Wolverton station, where most of the passengers alighted to take some refreshment. There was a large room, and tables covered with good things for travellers to eat. Willy would have filled his pockets with sweet cakes and fruit; but his mother knew that would not be good for him, so she allowed him to take a large bun, and then gave him some sandwiches. He had hardly finished eating them, when the little bell was heard ting-a-ring-a-ring; and every body understood what it meant. "It seems to say," cried Willy, "come away, ladies, come away, gentlemen, from all those nice things, or you will lose your places; we are going to set off." A great bustle there was, to be sure, with the crowd of people who were pushing their way out of the room door, and then hurrying to their carriages.

When Willy and his Papa got into their carriage, they found neither the old lady nor the spoiled child and her mother, but some gentlemen had taken their places. And in another minute the train began to move.

"Oh dear!" cried Willy, "they will be left behind; what will they do?"

"They have no doubt come to the end of their journey, and are gone to the town, in which they live, in one of those little carriages called flies."

"Flies, Papa," repeated Willy, "why are they called flies? for they are not a bit like one."

"The carriage is not like the shape of a fly," said his father; "but it is like one by the quickness of its motion. Flying is quicker than trotting or galloping, and these carriages are called flies because they go so fast." They were all glad to have got rid of the spoiled child. Their new fellow travellers talked among themselves, and Willy and his parents did so too. Willy felt very grateful to the old lady for all she had shown him; "yet still, Mamma," said he, "it was rather hard, I think, to throw my ball out of the window; for we did not hit her bonnet on purpose. And then, as for laughing, to be sure that was very wrong; but it was so funny, how could we help it?"

"Do you think, if the same thing were to happen again, you would laugh?"

"Oh no, certainly, I should be more careful now that I know I should lose my ball."

"The old lady gave you warning; and you see that the lesson has not been lost."

"But I am sure _you_ would not have done so, Mamma, if you had been the old lady."

"We ought, my dear, to make some allowance for the infirmities of old people, which often make them peevish and irritable."

"What are infirmities, Mamma?" asked Willy.

"Old people can neither see nor hear so well as young ones, because their eyes and their ears become worn out."

"Yes," said Willy, "the old lady was obliged to put on her spectacles when she read in her book; and she made me repeat what I said often, because she could not hear me till I spoke louder."

"That," continued his mother, "is owing to her eyes and her ears being a good deal worn out; and that is the case, I dare say, also, with her limbs; her legs begin to feel that her body is a great weight to carry about; and she cannot run, nor even walk so quickly as you can. Then often old people cannot sleep at night, which makes them tired in the day time; all these complaints, though not exactly illnesses, are called infirmities, and are very wearisome to bear; it is therefore the duty of the young to do all in their power to make the old as comfortable as they can, and to put up with a little fretfulness and ill temper on their part, without being angry."

"Oh, poor lady!" exclaimed Willy; "well, when I meet with a cross old man or woman, I will think of those infirmities you have been telling me of. I am sure if I had known about them, I should never have laughed at the old lady when she looked so funny with the ball stuck in her bonnet."

"That's right, my dear," said his mother; "and on the other hand, I think the old lady might have had a little more indulgence for the weakness of children--for children," continued she, "have their infirmities as well as old people."

"Why what, Mamma?" cried Willy, with surprise; "I am sure I can run and walk, ay, and skip and jump as well as any body, and see and hear too."

"The infirmities of childhood are not in general of the same nature as those of old age; and yet there is often a great resemblance between the two. A child is feeble, because it has not grown up to its strength; an old person is feeble, because she has lost strength. Little Sophy is often obliged to be carried in her nurse's arms, because she is tired of walking; Grandmamma can only walk a little way either, and wants a stick to support her. Sophy suffers from tooth-ache, because she is cutting her teeth, which means that her teeth are growing; Grandmamma has the tooth-ache, because her teeth are grown old and decayed. Sophy is fed with pap and soft food, because she has no teeth to chew with; and Grandmamma is obliged to mince her meat, because the few teeth she has are too much worn out to be able to chew meat."

"Well," said Willy, "I never should have thought Sophy and Grandmamma had been so much alike! I am sure they do not look alike at all, Mamma."

"No; in looks, youth has all the advantage."

They now passed a luggage train which was stopping at one of the stations, and Willy was very much amused with seeing the number of cattle, and sheep, and pigs that were closely lodged in the waggons. "I think those poor creatures are too crowded to be comfortable," observed he; "I dare say they would like better travelling on foot, as the flocks of sheep often do."

"I doubt it," said his Mother, "for all along the road the dogs and men are worrying them to keep them together, and then they are sadly tired before the day is over: don't you think you would be tired?"

"Oh, that I am sure I should, but then I have only two legs to walk on, and they have four; so it must be much easier for them. I wish old people had four legs," continued he, "then they would not feel the weight of their bodies so great: I know a poor old man who makes himself two legs of wood besides his own live legs, and that is old Carter, who walks on crutches; and then Grandmamma has three legs, when she walks with a stick."

THE THIRD CLASS CARRIAGES, OR THE MARKET GIRL.

Willy's Papa told him that as he had been so long travelling in the coach which was a close carriage, he would take him to another part of the train where the carriages were open, as he had promised to do.

Willy was much pleased at this, and when the train stopped at a station, they got out, and walked to another part of it.

He saw nothing like the open carriages he had been used to; there was neither phaeton, nor gig, nor caleche; there were, it is true, a number of immensely large carts full of people carrying baskets, and they sat down on plain wooden seats in long rows. Willy with his Papa and Mamma sat next to a rosy-cheeked young woman, who had a large basket of live fowls, and a smaller one of eggs and butter.

"I am sure you could not carry those heavy baskets?" said Willy.

"No, that I could not indeed," replied the young woman; "I am obliged to get some one to help me to take them from the station to market, or else pay the omnibus for doing so. But before we had a railroad, I did not go so far as Derby; I sold my things at Kegworth, and I could get no price for fowls there; so I only took butter and eggs to market."

Willy had already made an acquaintance with the fowls in the basket, the young woman having placed it under his feet as a footstool, for his little legs were too short to reach the ground. Now Willy having a piece of the bun in his hand, the remains of the luncheon, which he was only nibbling because he was no longer hungry, some of the crumbs fell into the basket and were greedily picked up by the chickens; and finding it very good, they tried to put their beaks between the twigs of the wicker to catch some more. Willy, seeing this, every now and then fed them; but there was one old hen who, being stronger than the chickens, pushed them away, in order to get all the crumbs for herself. "No, no," said Willy, "get away, and let the chickens have their share." However, the hen at last contrived to thrust her head through the bars of the basket, but there she was caught, for she could not get it back again. This made Willy laugh. "It serves you right," said he, "I am sure you cannot swallow anything now you are caught in a trap;" but when he saw that the hen was really choking in struggling to get her head free, he was sorry for her, and the young woman opened the basket, and got the head of the hen back again, but she was a good deal hurt, and lay at the bottom of the basket very sulky.

"She is well punished for her greediness," said the girl, "but she will have time to come round again before I get to market, or else I should not be able to sell her; folks would fancy there was something the matter with her, and I want to get a good price for my fowls, that I may have something more than my mother reckons on: and then I shall be able to spend that in tea and sugar; for tea, she says, comforts her more than any thing."

"Is anything the matter with your mother," asked Willy, "that she wants to be comforted?"

"Oh dear, she is blind," said the girl, "and I am sure that's uncomfortable enough. Stone blind! and yet she is not an old woman neither, but she has got what the doctors call a cataract, and they say it can be cured, but that the time is not yet come to cure it; but when it does, we are to take her to Derby to the hospital, and there the doctors will do something to her eyes. Oh, I don't like to think of it," said she, shuddering, "but then they say she will see again, just as she did years ago."

"You need not be afraid of the operation for your mother," said Willy's mother; "I assure you it is not painful."

"Why, sure you have not had it done to your eyes, Ma'am?"

"No; but I know from those who have: it is called _couching_, and if the eyes are carefully bound up afterwards till they get strong, she may see as well as ever."

"But," said Willy, "I suppose you will stay with her at the hospital to take care of her."

"No; I shall not be able," replied the market girl, "I must stay at home to take care of the house, and of my younger brother and sister, Johnny and Betsey, who go to school."

"Then," asked Willy, "does no body stay with your poor blind mother when you go to market?"

"It's lucky enough that one of the market days is of a Saturday, when there is a holiday at school, and on Thursdays, that's to-day, the little girl stays at home on purpose to attend to mother. Then, as for the hospital, she will want for no care there, for we have a grandmother living at Derby, and though she is old, she makes as good a nurse as anyone; and she will be sure to take care of her own daughter. Besides, there are plenty of doctors and nurses at the hospital," said she. "Oh, Derby's a famous place for poor folks; I suppose you know all about the fine gardens Mr. Joseph Strutt has made for the people to walk about and amuse themselves in?"

"No, indeed," replied Willy's mother; "we do not know Mr. Joseph Strutt."

"Not know him!" cried the girl, lifting up her hands with astonishment, "I thought every body knew Mr. Joseph Strutt. Well, you are going to Derby, where he lives; so pray go and see him and his house full of curiosities."

"But as we are not acquainted with him, we cannot take the liberty of going to his house, or walking in his gardens."

"Oh, but you may," said the girl, "house and gardens are open to everybody, gentle or simple; but the gardens, I assure you," added she, with a look of self-satisfaction, "were made for the poor more than for the rich; you rich people have gardens of your own, but you may come and see the Arboretum, that is its name, and welcome, and then I am sure you will say that none of the gardens of the rich can compare with this. And if you chance to meet Mr. Joseph Strutt there, it will do your heart good even to look at him; he is so gentle and so kind, and from his looks you might think that instead of doing good to all the people about him, they were doing good to him."

"Oh, do let us go and see him," said Willy, "and all his curiosities and the gardens too." His father said they would try to get introduced to him, for he liked to see good people, extremely. When they reached Derby, they took leave of the market girl. Willy helped her to lift the basket of chickens, and he bid them good by, too; and he was very sorry to think he should see her no more. "I should have liked to have seen her little brother and sister, too," said he.

"I am afraid you have not much chance of that," said his mother; "but who can tell?"

THE INN.

In the mean time they went to an inn at Derby. Willy had never been at an inn, and knew not what it meant. He supposed it was the house of one of his father's friends, to whom they were to pay a visit. The landlady was extremely civil, and asked them what they would like to have for dinner. She said she had a nice young chicken and some green peas, and a gooseberry tart, with a custard, which she thought would please little master. Willy replied, "Oh, yes, that it will, thank you, Ma'am;" and when she went away, he asked why she did not sit down and stay with Mamma?

"She is not a friend of mine," replied his mother, "I never saw her before."

"Then why do you come to her house, if you don't know her, Mamma? You said you could not go to Mr. Strutt's, because you did not know him."

His mother then explained to him, that this landlady kept a large house called an inn, or hotel, on purpose to receive travellers, and then made a bill, and that they paid her for all they ate or drank, and for the use of the room they sat in, and the bed rooms they slept in. "This house," said she, "cost her a great deal of money, and she has besides to pay for all we eat and drink."

"Oh yes," said Willy, "the nice dinner we are going to have must cost her a great deal of money, and she would not have enough if we did not pay her."

"So you see, Willy, she takes money out of her pocket to spend for us, and we put money into her pocket to pay her back again."

Willy was thoughtful for a minute or two, and then asked his Mamma whether she paid the landlady just as much money as she spent for her?

"Her bill comes to a little more," said his mother, "for if I paid her only just what she spent for us, she would gain nothing by us."

"But she would not lose either," said Willy; "if she spent a sovereign for us, and you paid her a sovereign, she would neither gain nor lose."

"I am glad to find you understand accounts so well," said his mother. "But you must know that this landlady keeps an inn on purpose to gain money; she wants money to pay for all she and her children eat and drink, and for their clothing and their schooling, and I know not how many things besides; now all that I pay her more than she spends for me she puts in her pocket, and keeps to spend for her own family."

"And does everybody who comes to the inn," asked Willy, "pay her a little more?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Then all the little mores must make a great deal," observed Willy. "Oh, how nicely that is contrived! We get good dinners and beds, and all we want, when we go to the inn, and the landlady gets the money she wants to spend for her family; so everybody gets something good."