And by and by, as the cars started up and sped along, this bitter little thought also sped along, carrying in its wake all the bitter little thoughts of yesterday and to-day.  Ally was quite accustomed to travelling by herself on this trip to and from New York.  It was a perfectly simple thing to sit in the car-seat where she had been placed by one uncle, until at the end of the trip she was met by the other uncle, and taken charge of,—­a perfectly simple, easy matter, and Ally had heretofore quite enjoyed it; but now, looking about her, and seeing the groups of other people’s relations going home to Thanksgiving, she began to think it was a very lonesome thing to be travelling all alone by herself; and just as this occurred to her, what should happen but that one of these groups should turn inquisitively to her and ask, “Are you travelling all by yourself, little girl?” and when Ally had answered, “Yes,” this inquisitive person commented upon her being such a little girl to travel all by herself; and then, when Ally told her rather proudly that she was ten years old, the inquisitive person had said, “Well, I don’t know what my little ten-year-old girl would think to be sent off to travel all alone.  I shall tell her when I get home what a brave little girl I met.”

Ally thought all this was said out of pity and wonder, and that the lady thought her very much neglected and forlorn.  But instead of that, the lady meant only to praise and compliment her; and thus, in this way and that way, the bitter little thoughts kept growing and growing, as the cars sped on, until long before the end of her journey came, poor Ally felt that there never was a much more friendless girl than she was; and when the cars steamed into the Boston station, she said to herself, “I wonder if Uncle John is dreading the winter on my account, as Aunt Kate is?” and with this thought she stepped out on the platform.  But where was Uncle John?  She expected to see him at once, coming forward to lift her from the steps.  Where was he now? and Ally looked at the faces before her with wondering scrutiny.  She jumped down—­for people were pressing behind her—­and moved on, scanning the face of every gentleman she saw with anxious eyes.  No one of them, however, was that of Uncle John.  What was the matter?  Didn’t he know the train she was to take?  Of course he did, for Uncle Tom had told her that he had telegraphed that he would meet her at the Boston station at five o’clock.  Of course he knew, so he must have forgotten her.  Yes, that was it,—­he had forgotten all about her!  Ally was not a specially timid child; but as she stood in the big station-building, and realized that there was not a soul she knew there to look out for her, a feeling of dismay overtook her.  If it were in the morning or at noonday, it wouldn’t have seemed so dreadful; but though the electric lights flashed everything into brilliance, it was a November day, and half-past five o’clock was after nightfall.