The Railway Children

By E. Nesbit

To my dear son, Paul Bland

Contents

1. The beginning of things
2. Peter's coal-mine
3. The old gentleman
4. The engine-burglar
5. Prisoners and captives
6. Saviours of the train
7. For valour
8. The amateur fireman
9. The pride of Perks
10. The terrible secret
11. The hound in the red jersey
12. What Bobbie brought home
13. The hound's grandfather
14. The End

Chapter I. The beginning of things

At first, these children were not "railway children." They almost never thought about trains. They only rode trains to fun places, like the zoo or a puppet show.

They were just regular kids. They lived with their Mom and Dad in a nice house in the suburbs (a town near a big city). Their house had a bathroom with hot and cold water, and even electric doorbells! It had "every modern thing," as people liked to say back then.

There were three children. Roberta was the oldest. Moms are not supposed to have favorites — but if their mom did, it might have been Roberta. Next was Peter, who wanted to be an engineer (someone who builds and fixes machines) when he grew up. The youngest was Phyllis, who always meant well, even when things went wrong.

Their mother didn't spend her days visiting boring ladies for tea. She stayed home and played with her children. She read to them and helped with homework. She even wrote them stories and funny poems for special days — like birthdays, or when the new kittens were born.

The three children had everything they needed: nice clothes, warm fires, and a nursery full of toys. They had a kind nursemaid to help take care of them, and a dog named James. Best of all, they had a wonderful father. He was almost never grumpy. He was always ready to play — and if he couldn't, he explained why in such a funny way that they didn't mind.

You might think they were very happy. They were! But they didn't know just how happy, until their nice life changed — and changed a lot.

The big, sad change happened very suddenly.

Peter had a birthday — his tenth. One of his gifts was a toy model train engine. It was the best toy he had ever gotten. He loved it very much.

But the engine only stayed perfect for three days. Then — maybe because Peter didn't know how to use it right, or maybe because Phyllis "helped" too much — the engine broke with a loud bang! Their dog James got so scared he ran outside and didn't come back all day. Some of Peter's toy animals were smashed too. But worst of all, poor Peter's feelings were hurt. The others said he cried about it. Of course, ten-year-old boys don't usually cry — but Peter said his eyes were red because he had a cold.

It turned out that was actually true! The next day, Peter really did feel sick and had to stay in bed. His mother worried he might have measles (a sickness with red spots). But then Peter suddenly sat up and said:

"I hate watery porridge. I hate barley water. I hate bread and milk. I want something real to eat!"

"What would you like?" Mother asked.

"A pigeon pie," said Peter. "A big one!"

So Mother asked the cook to make a big pigeon pie. It was baked. Peter ate some. After that, his cold got better.

While the pie was cooking, Mother made up a silly poem to cheer Peter up. It told the story of a boy who loved his toy engine more than anything — until one day, a screw came loose and the engine burst! The boy was so sad, he didn't care about anyone else — only his broken engine. That's why (the poem joked) he needed pigeon pie to feel better, and stayed wrapped up in bed with red eyes from his cold.

Their father had been away for a few days on a work trip. Peter hoped his dad could fix the broken engine, because Dad was wonderful with his hands. He had fixed all kinds of things before — even the rocking-horse, when everyone thought it couldn't be saved!

Peter was patient and waited until after dinner to ask about the engine. (This was Mother's idea, but Peter did the waiting.)

Finally Mother said, "Dear, we want to tell you about the great train accident, and ask your advice."

"All right," said Father. "Let's hear it!"

Peter told the sad story and brought out the broken engine.

"Hmm," said Father, looking it over carefully.

The children held their breath.

"Is there no hope?" asked Peter quietly.

"Hope? Of course there's hope!" said Father cheerfully. "But it will need some work — a bit of soldering (melting metal to join parts together), and a new valve (a small part that controls steam or water). Let's fix it together this Saturday."

"Can girls help fix engines too?" Peter asked, unsure.

"Of course!" said Father. "Girls are just as clever as boys — don't forget that. Phyllis, how would you like to drive a train someday?"

"My face would get so dirty," said Phyllis. "And I'd probably break something."

"I would love that!" said Roberta. "Could I be a fireman too, Daddy?" (A fireman on a train shoveled coal to keep the engine running.)

"If you still want to when you're grown up, we'll make you one," said Father, smiling. "I remember when I was a boy—"

Just then, someone knocked at the front door.

"Who could that be?" said Father. "A man's home should be his safe little castle!"

The maid, Ruth, came in. "Two gentlemen are here to see you, sir. I put them in the library."

"Probably about money for the church," said Mother. "Please send them away quickly, dear — it's almost the children's bedtime."

But Father did not send them away quickly. The children waited, and waited. They noticed Father's voice through the wall sounded serious — different than usual.

Finally, a bell rang.

"They're leaving now," said Phyllis.

But instead, Ruth came in looking worried. "Please, ma'am, the master wants you in the study. He looks terrible. I think it's bad news — maybe someone died, or —"

"That's enough, Ruth," said Mother gently. "You may go."

Mother went to the library. More talking happened. Then the bell rang again, and Ruth called for a cab (a horse-drawn taxi). The children heard footsteps, then the cab driving away, then the front door shutting.

Mother came back. Her face was very pale, and her eyes looked big and shiny. Her lips were pressed thin.

"Time for bed," she said.

"But you said we could stay up late for Father!" said Phyllis.

"Father had to leave — for work," said Mother. "Go on now, darlings."

The children kissed her goodnight. Roberta lingered and whispered, "It's not bad news, is it, Mommy? Is someone... gone?"

"No one has died," said Mother. But she seemed eager for Roberta to leave. "I can't explain tonight. Please go now."

So Roberta went.

That night, Peter waited on the stairs and asked Ruth, "What's going on?"

"Don't ask me questions, and I won't tell you lies," said Ruth. "You'll find out soon enough."

Later that night, Mother came in and kissed each sleeping child. Only Roberta half-woke — but she lay very still and quiet, pretending to sleep. She heard her mother's breath catch, like she'd been crying.

"If Mother doesn't want us to know she's upset," Roberta told herself, "then we won't ask. That's that."

The next morning, Mother had already left for London. Ruth told them this, then left them to eat breakfast.

"Something bad is happening," said Peter, cracking his egg. "Ruth said we'd find out soon."

"Did you ask her?" said Roberta, a little cross.

"Yes, I did!" said Peter. "If you don't care that Mother is upset, well — I do. So there."

"I just don't think we should ask the servants things Mother hasn't told us," said Roberta.

"Oh, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes," said Peter, "always so proper—"