On one bright morning, two best friends, Lily the Lamb and Timmy the Toad, were bouncing happily through the meadow together when they heard a delightful noise. It was a sound not often heard in the groves near the river—the rumble and whistle of a train!
“Oh Timmy!” exclaimed Lily, “I never knew there was a railway near here. Listen how it whistles!”
“Oh dear! I do hope no one will get run over,” said Timmy anxiously.
“Run over! How can that be?” asked Lily.
“Well, I suppose they can see where they are going; but,” said Timmy, after a pause, “it does seem rather dangerous.”
“Suppose we go and have a ride on it?” suggested Lily.
“I—if you like,” said Timmy shyly. “But one never knows where an express train may take one.”
While they were talking, a wooden station with a long platform ran by them, and the train drew up, with a puff and a hiss, to let some people out. But as nobody seemed inclined to get in, the guard began to blow his whistle energetically. So Lily and Timmy hopped aboard, and in another minute there was a bang of doors, a loud “Now for it!” from the driver, a sneeze from the engine, and off they went.
The sun was shining and the sky was blue, and all the world looked happy, as they raced along. The train glided silently through the still dry air, and there was no wind to ruffle their gentle wool or throw any water in Timmy’s face. So they both sat placidly gazing about them, and enjoying both the scenery and the adventure.
At one moment they were rushing over a high bridge, with the green woods and laughing waters many feet beneath them; at another they were cut short by a short tunnel, and coming out found themselves on a long causeway lined with trees and bushes, running past a quiet lake. There was nothing in any direction but this lake, the trees on the banks, and the swans softly gliding over the surface of the water.
“I wonder where we are coming to?” said Lily, looking earnestly at the opposite bank, where an island with a tall tower rose out of the trees. “It looks as if it might be a railway station, but I don’t see how we can possibly get there!”
“There is no use in being uneasy before we arrive, but I don’t mind saying that a ferry-boat and a causeway do not strike me as the usual precursors of a station,” replied Timmy.
But now the train was running slowly, and, as they got near to the cross bridge, they saw a long line of little brown ponies and little brown men, all carrying rails on their heads, marching two and two, and myriads of cabs and country carts all bulging with goods and luggage, and dripping with laundry and tin trunks.
As soon as the last draught animal had marched past, and before our train had totally vanished, the leading cab called out to the others:
“Now, every single one; stop and get unpacked. We shan’t see the train again till it’s got everything on board.”
“Take care of your own package, and don’t let anybody pinch yours,” said another. “I once knew a cab take away a pig that was not in his list of things, and as it was all he had in to eat, the driver had to buy sandwiches for the passengers.”
“I hope no dog will leap in with our luggage,” said a country cart. “One was just leading the poor ponies out the other day.”
“Just as I feared, here comes a growler,” said a cab who had jumped from the wheel before it was well to the ground. “He’ll pull every driver away by the nose that he meets.”
“Be careful of the corners, then,” said the other cab.
“I hope the points are in order,” said one of the leading brown men looking at the train behind him.
“Oh yes, they are now,” said a little brown man in front, “but as soon as we get over the bridge they’ll have to flip themselves back to their original positions; the cabs will reduce the train and everything to the original order before we, or anything else, can travel to the station.”
And so it came all right, and as soon as the train had got rid of its cabs and parcels and luggage, away it went over the couple of tin wires crossing the lake, and up a considerable hill on the opposite side, where there was nothing before it but a steep incline, sometimes a little moistened with punkah-water, sometimes a little ruffled by fans.
“Oh! I hope we shall stay here!” cried Timmy; “it is so nice and pleasant, and so like a drive in a cab itself.”
But alas for his hopes! Just when they were beginning to be steady, away went the railway again like a comet’s train, and upward still, on the most steep places skipping, and backward and forward across every gully that hid a little stream; until at last at the very top there came a standstill, the travellers going out on the back way, and a whole army of little blue and yellow vehicles called omnibuses going off in every direction.
Then followed a little black railway carriage, pushed along by a little blue and yellow carriage, with a dried-up little white horse in the shafts. Nobody else could be got up in a neat and natural order. Several forest animals insisted on being led by their noses, but that could not he done without having their mouths stuffed with hay, which only made them sulky and sleepy.
So it was decided that the railway train should be split into three parts, manners being observed, and so many animals in a carriage. And off each train went, selected animals having previously got out their notes and reversed the criteria of the independent travelers.
Mountaineers do not always speak the dialect of the valleys they inhabit, so it was best to converse in the language of innumerable big “You’s,” and suffix the names of the wilds of this current place to some popular or dignified verb. In vain did three little owls in transparent slippers try to alight in a collocutor for mutual exercise, who was passing overhead. They had to turn back, and as they did not understand one word of German, were altogether delayed.
Once fairly at home in vocal expression, the return trip and its notes were well nigh the same as the outward bound. It must be mentioned, however, that Timmy could pass for a toad, and regained two old friends, one a pig and the other a cockatoo. Gymnastic reasons limited his cornucopian size, and a still more respectable character profited by its fresh air. There also lacked a good provision of grease and fuel on the entry of compressed farmers. Every one returned quite unhurt, and thanking to his apartments the unknown capital of this world.