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“Oh, I’m not a bit sleepy. Are you?” was her next demand.

“Umm,” came the unsatisfactory response.

“What you say? You mustn’t mumble. Mamma never allows me to mumble. I always speak outright,” was Josephine’s next comment.

“Reckon that’s true enough,” murmured the porter, under his breath.

“What, Bob? I didn’t hear,” from the little girl.

“No matter, I’ll tell you in the morning,” he whispered.

“I’d rather know now.”

No response coming to this, she went on:

“Bob! Please to mind me, boy. I—want—to—hear—now,” very distinctly and emphatically. Josephine had been accustomed to having her wishes attended to immediately. That was about all mamma and big Bridget seemed to live for.

The lady in the berth above leaned over the edge and said, in a shrill whisper:

“Little girl, keep still.”

“Yes, lady.”

Bob finished the opposite section, and a woman in a red kimono came from the dressing-room and slipped behind the curtain. Josephine knew a red kimono. It belonged to Mrs. Dutton, the minister’s wife, and Mrs. Dutton often stayed at mamma’s cottage. Could this be Mrs. Dutton?