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"
It
seems
ungrateful
,
"
said
Bobbie
;
"
we
loved
it
so
when
we
had
n't
anyone
else
to
play
with
.
"
"
Perks
is
always
coming
up
to
ask
after
Jim
,
"
said
Peter
,
"
and
the
signalman
's
little
boy
is
better
.
He
told
me
so
.
"
"
I
did
n't
mean
the
people
,
"
explained
Phyllis
;
"
I
meant
the
dear
Railway
itself
.
"
"
The
thing
I
do
n't
like
,
"
said
Bobbie
,
on
this
fourth
day
,
which
was
a
Tuesday
,
"
is
our
having
stopped
waving
to
the
9.15
and
sending
our
love
to
Father
by
it
.
"
"
Let
's
begin
again
,
"
said
Phyllis
.
And
they
did
.
Somehow
the
change
of
everything
that
was
made
by
having
servants
in
the
house
and
Mother
not
doing
any
writing
,
made
the
time
seem
extremely
long
since
that
strange
morning
at
the
beginning
of
things
,
when
they
had
got
up
so
early
and
burnt
the
bottom
out
of
the
kettle
and
had
apple
pie
for
breakfast
and
first
seen
the
Railway
.
It
was
September
now
,
and
the
turf
on
the
slope
to
the
Railway
was
dry
and
crisp
.
Little
long
grass
spikes
stood
up
like
bits
of
gold
wire
,
frail
blue
harebells
trembled
on
their
tough
,
slender
stalks
,
Gipsy
roses
opened
wide
and
flat
their
lilac-coloured
discs
,
and
the
golden
stars
of
St.
John
's
Wort
shone
at
the
edges
of
the
pool
that
lay
halfway
to
the
Railway
.
Bobbie
gathered
a
generous
handful
of
the
flowers
and
thought
how
pretty
they
would
look
lying
on
the
green-and-pink
blanket
of
silk-waste
that
now
covered
Jim
's
poor
broken
leg
.
"
Hurry
up
,
"
said
Peter
,
"
or
we
shall
miss
the
9.15
!
"
"
I
ca
n't
hurry
more
than
I
am
doing
,
"
said
Phyllis
.
