The engine lurched and shook and rattled, and as they shot under a bridge the engine seemed to shout in her ears.
The fireman shovelled on coals.
Bobbie unrolled the brown paper and disclosed the toy engine.
"I thought," she said wistfully, "that perhaps you'd mend this for me--because you're an engineer, you know." The engine-driver said he was blowed if he wasn't blest.
"I'm blest if I ain't blowed," remarked the fireman.
But the engine-driver took the little engine and looked at it--and the fireman ceased for an instant to shovel coal, and looked, too.
"It's like your precious cheek," said the engine-driver--"whatever made you think we'd be bothered tinkering penny toys ?" "I didn't mean it for precious cheek," said Bobbie; "only everybody that has anything to do with railways is so kind and good, I didn't think you'd mind.

You don't really--do you ?" she added, for she had seen a not unkindly wink pass between the two.
"My trade's driving of an engine, not mending her, especially such a hout-size in engines as this 'ere," said Bill.

"An' 'ow are we a-goin' to get you back to your sorrowing friends and relations, and all be forgiven and forgotten ?" "If you'll put me down next time you stop," said Bobbie, firmly, though her heart beat fiercely against her arm as she clasped her hands, "and lend me the money for a third-class ticket, I'll pay you back--honour bright.

I'm not a confidence trick like in the newspapers--really, I'm not." "You're a little lady, every inch," said Bill, relenting suddenly and completely.

"We'll see you gets home safe.