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To
put
an
end
to
the
matter
,
we
went
upstairs
,
and
asked
the
traffic
superintendent
,
and
he
told
us
that
he
had
just
met
a
man
,
who
said
he
had
seen
it
at
number
three
platform
.
We
went
to
number
three
platform
,
but
the
authorities
there
said
that
they
rather
thought
that
train
was
the
Southampton
express
,
or
else
the
Windsor
loop
.
But
they
were
sure
it
was
n't
the
Kingston
train
,
though
why
they
were
sure
it
was
n't
they
could
n't
say
.
Then
our
porter
said
he
thought
that
must
be
it
on
the
high-level
platform
;
said
he
thought
he
knew
the
train
.
So
we
went
to
the
high-level
platform
,
and
saw
the
engine-driver
,
and
asked
him
if
he
was
going
to
Kingston
.
He
said
he
could
n't
say
for
certain
of
course
,
but
that
he
rather
thought
he
was
.
Anyhow
,
if
he
was
n't
the
11.5
for
Kingston
,
he
said
he
was
pretty
confident
he
was
the
9.32
for
Virginia
Water
,
or
the
10
a.m.
express
for
the
Isle
of
Wight
,
or
somewhere
in
that
direction
,
and
we
should
all
know
when
we
got
there
.
We
slipped
half-a-crown
into
his
hand
,
and
begged
him
to
be
the
11.5
for
Kingston
.
"
Nobody
will
ever
know
,
on
this
line
,
"
we
said
,
"
what
you
are
,
or
where
you
're
going
.
You
know
the
way
,
you
slip
off
quietly
and
go
to
Kingston
.
"
"
Well
,
I
do
n't
know
,
gents
,
"
replied
the
noble
fellow
,
"
but
I
suppose
some
train
's
got
to
go
to
Kingston
;
and
I
'll
do
it
.
Gim
me
the
half-crown
.
"
Thus
we
got
to
Kingston
by
the
London
and
South
--
Western
Railway
.
We
learnt
,
afterwards
,
that
the
train
we
had
come
by
was
really
the
Exeter
mail
,
and
that
they
had
spent
hours
at
Waterloo
,
looking
for
it
,
and
nobody
knew
what
had
become
of
it
.
Our
boat
was
waiting
for
us
at
Kingston
just
below
bridge
,
and
to
it
we
wended
our
way
,
and
round
it
we
stored
our
luggage
,
and
into
it
we
stepped
.
"
Are
you
all
right
,
sir
?
"
said
the
man
.
"
Right
it
is
,
"
we
answered
;
and
with
Harris
at
the
sculls
and
I
at
the
tiller-lines
,
and
Montmorency
,
unhappy
and
deeply
suspicious
,
in
the
prow
,
out
we
shot
on
to
the
waters
which
,
for
a
fortnight
,
were
to
be
our
home
.
It
was
a
glorious
morning
,
late
spring
or
early
summer
,
as
you
care
to
take
it
,
when
the
dainty
sheen
of
grass
and
leaf
is
blushing
to
a
deeper
green
;
and
the
year
seems
like
a
fair
young
maid
,
trembling
with
strange
,
wakening
pulses
on
the
brink
of
womanhood
.
