r was not as rigidly looked after as now.

Rock, however, who had passed nearly all his young life on the
foot-board, would have been deemed an exception to any rule. At least,
so thought Jockey Playfair, the veteran "knight of the lever" on the Pen
Yan mail and accommodation.

But Jockey's usual good-humor had been relegated to the background on
that evening, as Rock soon saw.

The signal to start was given, and with a full head of steam on, the old
engine, trembling and groaning from her pent-up power, began to creep
ahead, as if feeling her way along the switches and through the yard,
going faster and faster at every revolution of her wheels, until the
station-lights faded in the distance, and she plowed boldly into the
night.

The tall form of the engineer, clothed in greasy overalls and jumper,
stood at his post like a grim sentinel on duty, his right hand on the
reversing lever, his left on the throttle, while his steely gray eyes
peered into the gloom, as if expecting to see spring from the regions of
darkness the hosts of danger and death.

A drizzling rain was falling, so altogether it was a disagreeable night.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Rock," said Gilly, the fireman, as the
engine fairly gained her feet and increased her progress at every beat
of her piston heart. "I want you to take my place until we get to
Trestle Foot. I am used up."

"Of course I will," replied Rock, taking the fireman's place. "Is she
very hungry to-night?"

"Hungry and cross, Rock," said the other. "But I'll risk you to feed
her."

No engineer who has stood at the lever for any length of time refuses to
believe that his trusty servant is without her faults, however he may
care for her. She is subject to her ill-moods as well as himself.

The engine, so good-natured on his last run, so prompt to obey his will,
on this trip is stubborn and hard to manage.

He can see no reason for her change of spirit. Her wonderful mechanism
is in perfect working order, her groom has arrayed her for a dazzling
passage, her fireman has fed her with the best of fuel, the flames dart
ardently along her brazen veins, she bounds off like a charger, eager
for conquest. Her first spurt over, she falters, sulks.

No coaxing can change her mood. In vain her master bestows greatest care
upon her; with each effort she grows more sullen.

Jockey Playfair's engine was in the sulks on the trip of which we write.
The Silver Swan had never seemed in