Wild Heather by L.T. Meade

I think God gave me great courage that day, for I really acted like a girl who was accustomed to going about by herself, who knew her way about London, and who was saving with regard to money matters. I had come out of one of the richest houses in London; I had left a house where I was attended all day and practically half the night, where my slightest wish was considered, where the most beautiful clothes were given to me, and the most lovely things -- that is, to all appearance -- happened to me. I went out of that awful house, which I hated, which I loathed, just because it was so rich, so stifling with luxury, and felt that each minute I was becoming a woman, and that soon, very soon, I should be quite grown up.

I got to Paddington Station and took the first train to Cherton. Cherton is not far from a great centre, and, as a rule, you have to change trains and get into a "local" before you can arrive at the little old-world place. I travelled third, of course, and had quite an interesting journey. My compartment was full and I enjoyed looking at my companions. They were the sort of people who do travel third -- I mean they were the sort of people who have a right to travel third. A great many ladies now go third-class when they ought to go second or first, but these people had a right to their third-class compartment, and thoroughly they seemed to enjoy themselves. They brought parcels innumerable; some of them brought birds in cages. There was a small, sharp-looking boy who had a pet weasel in his pocket. The weasel thrust out his head now and then and looked at us with his cunning bright eyes, and then darted back once more into his place of shelter. The boy looked intensely happy with his weasel; in fact, the creature seemed to comprise all his world. I managed to enter into conversation with the boy, and he told me that he was going to Cherton to be apprenticed to an old uncle of his; he was to learn the boot and shoe business and was to make a good thing of it, so that he might be rich enough to help his father and mother by and by. He had nice, honest, brown eyes, and when I asked him his name he said that he was called Jack Martin, but that most of his friends called him Jack Tar. They all thought he would fail -- all except Sam -- but Sam prognosticated his success. I asked the boy who "Sam" was, and he answered in his simple, direct way: