The station wasn’t a bit like the station at her home—­not a bit.  It was a funny little frame house with a platform, out in front.  And there wasn’t any roof out over where the trains went or anything like that; just the little house and the platform.  And instead of the piles of trunks on great trucks that she supposed were in every station, there was only her own little trunk dumped forlornly on the platform.  And instead of the many men busy about various duties, there was not a single man, at least not one that Mary Jane could see.  Grandfather took the check that Dr. Smith gave him and went into the little station with it.  In a second he was back and what do you suppose he did?  He picked up her trunk and set it in the back of his waiting automobile just as easy as could be!  Mary Jane was that surprised he could see it and he laughed gayly and said, “That’s the way we do our baggaging here, Mary Jane.  We’ll not wait for any sleepy baggage men—­not when Grandmother and hot griddle cakes and honey are waiting for us, will we?”

And Mary Jane, who was getting hungry enough to find breakfast a most interesting subject, settled down in the front seat beside her grandfather and said, “No, we won’t!”

Dr. Smith climbed into the back seat beside the trunk and Grandfather started the car and went spinning down the road.

“Your roads all know where they’re going, don’t they?” Mary Jane asked as they got under way.

“Yes,” replied Grandfather in surprise; “don’t yours?”

“Not like yours do,” said Mary Jane positively; “ours go this way.”  And with her finger she made some big curves in the air.

“Oh!” laughed Grandfather, “you mean that yours are curving because of the hills and that ours are straight.  Yes, our roads are pretty straight but you’ll like that when you get used to it, because then you can’t get lost.  There’s a road every mile and each road goes just the way it by rights ought to go because there aren’t any hills to get in the way.”  And all the while Grandfather was talking, he was driving the car along the straight road just as fast as could be.

“And aren’t there any hills before we get to your house?” asked Mary Jane after a while.

’"Well,” said Grandfather smilingly, as he slowed the car down, “what do you think about that yourself?”

Mary Jane looked before her, the way she could see Grandfather wanted her to look, and, right there close, she saw a big, old-fashioned white house.  It had a flower bed, a great big round flower bed, in the yard in front of it and a curving driveway along the side.  And it had a wide porch all across the front, a porch that had seats and a swing and everything a little girl would like to see on a porch.  A lot of windows with green shutters were scattered over the house, and through the windows Mary Jane could see ruffled white curtains at every window.  And on the porch of this house stood a pretty, white-haired grandmother, just the sort of a grandmother that belongs to every white house in the country.