grandeur of action that would certainly
have sent that lady's heart into her throat. In a few seconds it
reached and passed the place where the siding was connected with the
main line, and where a pointsman stood ready to shift the points. Here
the obedient spirit of the powerful steed was finely displayed. Will
Garvie reversed the action of the engines by a process which, though
beautifully simple and easily done, cannot be easily described. John
let on a puff of steam, and the engine glided backwards as readily as it
had run forward. A few seconds afterwards it moved slowly under the
magnificent arch of Clatterby station, and its buffers met those of the
train it was destined to draw as if with a gentle touch of friendly
greeting.

At the station all was bustle and noise; but here we must venture to do
what no human being could accomplish in reality, compel the 6:30 p.m.
train to wait there until it shall be our pleasure to give it the signal
to start! Meanwhile we shall put back the clock an hour or so, ask the
reader to return to Mrs Tipps' residence and observe what transpired
there while John Marrot was in the shed getting his iron steed ready for
action.

CHAPTER THREE.

IN WHICH THE WIDOW HOLDS CONVERSE WITH A CAPTAIN, MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE
OF A YOUNG MAN, AND RECEIVES A TELEGRAPHIC SHOCK, WHICH ENDS IN A
RAILWAY JOURNEY.

Mrs Captain Tipps was, as we have said, a thin old lady of an
excessively timid temperament. She was also, as we have shown,
impulsively kind in disposition. Moreover, she was bird-like in aspect
and action. We would not have it supposed, however, that her features
were sharp. On the contrary, they were neat and rounded and well
formed, telling of great beauty in youth, but her little face and mouth
were of such a form that one was led irresistibly to expect to hear her
chirp; she fluttered rather than walked and twittered rather than
talked. Altogether she was a charming little old lady, with a pair of
bead-like eyes as black as sloes. Happy that captain--a sea-captain, by
the way, long since dead--round whom she had fluttered in days gone bye,
and happy that son Joseph round whom, when at home, she fluttered now.

But Joseph was not often at home at the time we write of. He was an
honest soul--a gentle, affectionate man with a handsome face, neat
dapper little frame, something like his mother in many ways, yet not
unmanly. He was too earnest, simple, unassuming, and