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Welshpool was the first of a string of little stations they
stopped at: a collection of low, gray stone houses and narrow streets. Jen
couldn’t begin to pronounce most of the names of the towns.
Now, for the first time, she wondered what Borth would look like. It was a
tiny dot on the map beside the sea with nothing to make it different from
hundreds of other tiny dots. She wondered if it were pretty and had gardens
or if it were a fishing village with a harbor and boats; her father’s
letters had told her very little, really. Becky’s notes were mostly
concerned with school and the people she met, and Peter never wrote at all.
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