least, think what we
shall do next."

At the station was one of their neighbors, proposing to take the New
York midnight train, for it was now after eleven, and the train went
through at half-past.

"I saw lights at the locksmith's over the way, as I passed," he said;
"why do not you send over to the young man there? He can get your door
open for you. I never would spend the night here."

Solomon John went over to "the young man," who agreed to go up to the
house as soon as he had closed the shop, fit a key, and open the door,
and come back to them on his way home. Solomon John came back to the
station, for it was now cold and windy in the deserted streets. The
family made themselves as comfortable as possible by the stove, sending
Solomon John out occasionally to look for the young man. But somehow
Solomon John missed him; the lights were out in the locksmith's shop, so
he followed along to the house, hoping to find him there.

But he was not there! He came back to report. Perhaps the young man had
opened the door and gone on home. Solomon John and Agamemnon went back
together, but they could not get in. Where was the young man? He had
lately come to town, and nobody knew where he lived, for on the return
of Solomon John and Agamemnon it had been proposed to go to the house of
the young man. The night was wearing on.

The midnight train had come and gone. The passengers who came and went
looked with wonder at Mrs. Peterkin, nodding in her turban, as she sat
by the stove, on a corner of a long bench. At last the station-master
had to leave, for a short rest. He felt obliged to lock up the station,
but he promised to return at an early hour to release them.

"Of what use," said Elizabeth Eliza, "if we cannot even then get into
our own house?"

Mr. Peterkin thought the matter appeared bad, if the locksmith had left
town. He feared the young man might have gone in, and helped himself to
spoons, and left.

Only they should have seen him if he had taken the midnight train.
Solomon John thought he appeared honest. Mr. Peterkin only ventured to
whisper his suspicions, as he did not wish to arouse Mrs. Peterkin, who
still was nodding in the corner of the long bench.

Morning did come at last. The family decided to go to their home;
perhaps by some effort in the early daylight they might make an
entrance.

On the way they met with the night-policeman, returning from his beat.
He stopped when he saw the family.

"A