t me see--I have his name
here somewhere," and he began searching among the papers in his pocket.
"The children are in my charge," he went on. "Their mother had to go to
a hospital and--"

"She did?" cried Uncle Toby so suddenly that the engineer and conductor
looked at him in surprise. "Is the name of the man who was to meet these
children Mr. Toby Bardeen?" went on the old sailor.

"Why, yes, that's his name. I have it here on a piece of paper," said
the conductor. "But how did you--"

"Are those children Harry and Mary Benton?" went on Uncle Toby.

"Those are their names, certainly," the conductor admitted. "But how in
the world--"

"I'm Mr. Toby Bardeen," interrupted the old sailor. "Uncle Toby is what
the Curlytops call me. I was expecting these children, but I had no idea
they'd arrive so soon. It's only by chance that I'm passing this way. I
didn't expect Mary and Harry for nearly a week."

"Well, the society that gave them in my charge, to see that they got
safely to Pocono and to Mr. Bardeen, told me their mother had to go to
the hospital sooner than she expected," reported the conductor. "I was
going to telegraph you when I got to the next station to make sure you'd
be on hand. They said--that is, the lady of the Fresh Air Society said
she'd written you to expect the children earlier."

"Well, I didn't get the letter, because I left home to go to visit the
Curlytops," said Uncle Toby. "However, it's all right now. I'll take the
children right into the auto with me and soon have them home. It's lucky
I met you."

"Very lucky, indeed!" agreed the conductor. "I'll go back and get the
children ready for you. Poor little things, they're quite sad and
forlorn. Their father was killed in the war, I understand."

"Yes," agreed Uncle Toby. "At least he's missing, and I guess he must be
killed or they'd have heard something from him by this time. However,
I'll take charge of the children. I used to know their mother many years
ago, but I haven't seen her for some time."

"If you'll drive along the road, around the cut, to the rear of the
train, the snow won't be so deep for the children," said the engineer.
"I'll help you carry them out," he added to the conductor.

The rocky cut, in which the train was stuck in the snow drift, was about
twice as long as the engine and cars, and in front of the cut, as well
as behind it, the snow was not very deep, though it was getting deeper
all the while as the white fla