Myself and three young ladies--make five tickets; my brother and father and mother--eight." The sharp Frenchman looked dubious.

"Three children free; two at half fare," he repeated.

He was trying to see them all as he spoke.
Sophia repeated her count with terse severity.
"There was not another young lady ?" "Certainly not." And Sophia was not a woman to be trifled with, so he punched the tickets and went back into his car.
Wooden platforms, a station hotel built of wood, innumerable lines of black rails on which freight trains stood idle, the whole place shut in by a high wooden fence--this was the prospect which met the eyes of the English travellers, and seen in the first struggling light of morning, in the bitter cold of a black frost, it was not a cheerful one.

The Rexford family, however, were not considering the prospect; they were intent only on finding the warm passenger-car of the train that was to take them the rest of their journey, and which they had been assured would be waiting here to receive them.
This train, however, was not immediately to be seen, and, in the meantime, the broad platform, which was dusted over with dry frost crystals, was the scene of varied activities.
From the baggage-car of the train they had left, a great number of boxes and bags, labelled "Rexford," were being thrown down in a violent manner, which greatly distressed some of the girls and their father.
"Not that way.

That is not the way.