Our train left Grand Central Station at two o'clock next afternoon; it was bitter cold, I remember, and I drove to the station, smothered in furs.

But our car was wonderfully cozy and comfortable, and it warmed my heart to see how proud Dad was of it: I must inspect the kitchen; this was my stateroom, did I like it?
I mustn't judge Amos by his appearance, but the way he could cook--he was a wonder at making griddle cakes.

Did I still like griddle cakes?
"And do look at the books and magazines Mr.Porter brought.

And a box of chocolates, too.

Wasn't it kind of him ?" Dear Dad! He was like a child with a new toy.
I'm sure he enjoyed every minute of the trip.