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 had long since turned her face to the wall, and, metaphorically speaking, passed us by on the other side. But Mrs. Croydon was quite unwearied in helping us. She just won my heart straight away. Berengaria might call it tact, but I called it something a good deal more. That woman had the heart of a real good Samaritan. That night was the first time in my life that I had ever made my own bed. It was certainly the most awkward bed to make that you could possibly imagine. You had to stand on the edge of the lower berth, where an irate would-be-asleep form lay, cling on with one hand and spread out your sheets and rugs as best you could with the other. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Croydon I don't think I should ever have done it, and I should probably have slept all night in a bundled up sort of heap, with half my clothes on instead of properly like an ordinary respectable being in bed. The last difficulty, however, was climbing up into that bed after you had made it. I can't rightly say what I looked like as I did it, but Berengaria hoisting herself heavily up, greatly impeded by a pink night-dress, was truly a sight for the gods. It was Mrs. Croydon who pulled the green shades over the lamps and kind of tucked us up, and bade us a smiling good-night. I was a bit afraid at first of falling out of my exalted berth during the night, but I soon fell asleep, and slept quite soundly in spite of the rattling of the train and several stoppages at noisy wayside stations. It was bitterly cold when I woke up,