sit on,
put his overcoat under her feet; his heart was in it. Dick was sullen,
and Jim had to show her about the engine. When she got down to go back
to the car she thanked him--she "had enjoyed it greatly"--she "would
like to try it again." Jim smiled. He was almost good-looking when he
smiled.

Dick was meaner than ever after that, sneered at Jim--swore; but Jim
didn't mind it. He was thinking of some one else, and of the rain which
would prevent her coming again.

They were on the return trip, and were half-way home when the accident
happened. It was just "good dusk," and it had been raining all night and
all day, and the road was as rotten as mud. The special was behind and
was making up. She had the right of way, and she was flying. She rounded
a curve just above a small "fill," under which was a little stream,
nothing but a mere "branch." In good weather it would never be noticed.
The gay party behind were at dinner. The first thing they knew was the
sudden jerk which came from reversing the engine at full speed, and the
grind as the wheels slid along under the brakes. Then they stopped with
a bump which jerked them out of their seats, set the lamps to swinging,
and sent the things on the table crashing on the floor. No one was hurt,
only shaken, and they crowded out of the car to learn the cause. They
found it. The engine was half buried in wet earth on the other side of
the little washout, with the tender jammed up into the cab. The whole
was wrapped in a dense cloud of escaping steam. The roar was terrific.
The big engineer, bare-headed and covered with mud, and with his face
deadly white, was trying to get down to the engine. Some one was in
there.

They got him out after a while (but it took some time), and laid him on
the ground, while a mattress was got. It was Jim.

Carry had been weeping and praying. She sat down and took his head in
her lap, and with her lace handkerchief wiped his blackened and bleeding
face, and smoothed his wet hair.

The newspaper accounts, which are always reflections of what
public sentiment is, or should be, spoke of it--some, as "a
providential"--others, as "a miraculous"--and yet others as "a
fortunate" escape on the part of the President and the Directors of
the road, according to the tendencies, religious or otherwise, of their
paragraphists.

They mentioned casually that "only one person was hurt--an employee,
name not ascertained." And one or two had some gush about