After some time they approached the little town where the passengers took the train for New York.  Mrs. Bird, who had taken leave of her friend, held Charlie fast by the hand, and they entered the cars together.  He looked a little pale and weak from the excitement of parting and the novelty of his situation.  Mrs. Bird, observing his pallid look, placed him on a seat, and propped him up with shawls and cushions, making him as comfortable as possible.

The train had not long started, when the conductor came through to inspect the tickets, and quite started with surprise at seeing Charlie stretched at full length upon the velvet cushion.  “What are you doing here?” exclaimed he, at the same time shaking him roughly, to arouse him from the slight slumber into which he had fallen.  “Come, get up:  you must go out of this.”

“What do you mean by such conduct?” asked Mrs. Bird, very much surprised.  “Don’t wake him; I’ve got his ticket; the child is sick.”

“I don’t care whether he’s sick or well—­he can’t ride in here.  We don’t allow niggers to ride in this car, no how you can fix it—­so come, youngster,” said he, gruffly, to the now aroused boy, “you must travel out of this.”

“He shall do no such thing,” replied Mrs. Bird, in a decided tone; “I’ve paid fall price for his ticket, and he shall ride here; you have no legal right to eject him.”

“I’ve got no time to jaw about rights, legal or illegal—­all I care to know is, that I’ve my orders not to let niggers ride in these cars, and I expect to obey, so you see there is no use to make any fuss about it.”

“Charlie,” said Mrs. Bird, “sit here;” and she moved aside, so as to seat him between herself and the window.  “Now,” said she, “move him if you think best.”

“I’ll tell you what it is, old woman,” doggedly remarked the conductor:  “you can’t play that game with me.  I’ve made up my mind that no more niggers shall ride in this car, and I’ll have him out of here, cost what it may.”

The passengers now began to cluster around the contending parties, and to take sides in the controversy.  In the end, the conductor stopped the train, and called in one or two of the Irish brake-men to assist him, if necessary, in enforcing his orders.

“You had better let the boy go into the negro car, madam,” said one of the gentlemen, respectfully; “it is perfectly useless to contend with these ruffians.  I saw a coloured man ejected from here last week, and severely injured; and, in the present state of public feeling, if anything happened to you or the child, you would be entirely without redress.  The directors of this railroad control the State; and there is no such thing as justice to be obtained in any of the State courts in a matter in which they are concerned.  If you will accept of my arm, I will accompany you to the other car—­if you will not permit the child to go there alone, you had better go quietly with him.”