The train whistle gave a loud, long toot. Great clouds of smoke blew past the open train windows. Screens kept out the cinders, not the dust and soot. But Amelia Earhart, sitting by the window, didn’t care about the dirt. She was busy counting white horses in the farmyards they passed.

”There’s another one,” she said to Muriel, her little sister. “That makes ten. I wonder how many I’ll see before we get there?” Muriel sat across from Amelia, looking out the other window. Her mother sat beside her and Mr. Earhart beside Amelia. It was the summer of 1904, and the Earharts were all going to visit Grandma and Grandpa Otis. Grandpa was a judge in Atchison, Kansas. Grandma kept a large, beautiful house. And the cook, Lilly Bell, always had the best raisin cake Amelia had ever tasted.

”How much longer till we get to Atchison?” Amelia asked again.

”One more hour,” said Mr. Earhart, after looking at his big watch. Their father always knew the answers to train questions. He was a lawyer for the railroad and often traveled on trains.

Suddenly, above the clicking of the wheels, they heard the low rumble of thunder. The summer sky was growing darker.

”It looks like a storm,” Mrs. Earhart said.

”Yes,” said Mr. Earhart. “And this will probably make the train arrive late in Atchison.”

Just as Amelia gave a deep sigh, the conductor came down the aisle. He stopped to talk to Mr. Earhart. They were old friends.

”Guess you’re traveling for pleasure today?”

”That’s right, Mr. Wiggins. We’re going visiting. I want you to meet Mrs. Earhart. This is Amelia and this is Muriel. But we call the girls ‘Melia’ and ‘Pidge.’”

”How do you do, Mrs. Earhart,” the conductor said. “How do you do, young ladies. We see a lot of Mr. Earhart on this train. It’s nice to meet his family.” And Mr. Wiggins gave a friendly smile.

”We’re not all here,” Amelia put it. “Poor James Ferocious has to ride in the baggage car, because he’s a dog.”

”That’s too bad,” said Mr. Wiggins. “But don’t worry. The men up there will take good care of him. Tell me,” he went on, “where did you get your nicknames?”

Pidge looked shy, but Amelia said promptly, “I’m named for my Grandma Otis. Her papa called her Amelia only when she was bad, and she didn’t like it. So she never calls me Amelia — just Melia. That’s what everyone calls me.”

”Melia named me Pidge,” put in Muriel.

”She’s always singing ‘Little Blue Pigeon,’” Amelia explained. “So I just call her Pidge. I wish she’d learn another song.”

James Ferocious

It's Just Like Flying

School Days in Atchison

James Ferocious and the Stagecoach

The State Fair in Des Moines

Amelia Goes Exploring

Christmastime at Grandma's

Christmas Day

The New Sled

Mama Reads Black Beauty

Graduation

First Flight

Flying Lessons

A Real Pilot

What Happened Next?
The Mystery of Amelia Earhart
About the Author