and fire and supper more welcome.

At Junior's bed-time, he was eighty miles away, walking up and down the
muddy platform of the principal station of Agapolis, stamping his feet
at each turn in his promenade to restore the circulation. His was a fast
Express train, and he stood during most of the run, on the alert to
guard against accident. There was no more careful engineer on the road.
Fireman and brakeman were off for supper in or near the station. He
slouched as he walked, his hands thrust deep into his pockets; his
overcoat was heavy and too loose even for his bulky figure. He had
"taken it off the hands" of an engineer's widow whose husband was
dragged from under a wrecked train one night last summer. "Mother" used
to look grave when Top, Senior, began to wear it, but she was not a mite
notional--Mother wasn't, and she was glad now that poor Mrs. Wilson had
the money and he had the beaver-cloth coat. His face was begrimed with
smoke, his beard clogged with cinders and vapor. A lady, travelling
alone, hesitated visibly before she asked a question, looked surprised
when he touched his hat and turned to go half the length of the platform
that he might point out the parlor-car. He observed and interpreted
hesitation and surprise, and was good-humoredly amused.

"I s'pose I don't look much like what Junior calls 'a hero,'" he
meditated with a broader gleam. "What a cute young one he is! Please
GOD! he'll make a better figure in the world 'n his father hes
done. I hope that lily-flower o' hisn will be open in the mornin'.
'Seems if I got softer-hearted 'bout hevin thet boy disapp'inted every
day I live. Come summer, he shell hev a run or two on Her every week.
Mother 'n me hes got to make up to him for what he loses in not bein'
strong an' like other chillren. Mother--she's disposed to spile him jest
a leetle. But dear me! what a fustrate fault that is in a woman! She did
look good in that ere red neck-tie, to-night, an' she was always
pretty."

The rain was fine and close, like a slanting mist that pierced the
pores, when the Express drew out of the station, and as it fell, it
froze. Stokes growled that "the track would be one glare of ice before
they got Her in." He was inclined to be surly to-night, an uncommon
circumstance with the young fellow, and after several attempts to
enliven him, Top, Senior, let him alone. He was not in a talkative mood
himself. The tea-table chat ran in his head and set him to dreaming