She reached the foot of the hill without further
mishap, hesitated a second or so at the fence, and then vaulted over it.
For a moment, she was out of sight in the ditch beside the road, then she
was seen clambering into the dusty highway.
Hazel was laughing.
"You couldn't do that, Buster, I'll warrant."
"I am sure I don't want to," answered Margery stretching out comfortably
with her hands supporting her head. "I'm no circus performer."
Hazel uttered a little exclamation.
"Look Margery! Look!" she cried.
"Well, what is it? I don't see anything," replied Margery petulantly,
raising herself on one elbow, gazing listlessly down into the valley where
the village lay baking under the hot June sun.
"It's a special," cried Hazel. "See, the cars are orange colored. Aren't
they pretty? I never saw anything more attractive."
Margery turned up her nose disdainfully.
"I don't see anything about a railroad train to get excited over," she
answered, lying back in the shade of the maple tree, beneath which the
girls had been resting for the past hour or so.
That the special train rushing down the valley, would make no stop at
Meadow-Brook, Hazel could plainly see. Trains that were to stop there
always slowed down before reaching the second crossing west of the
village.
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