ight.

"Raven Crag," the name of Acton's home, was situated just within the
borders of Yorkshire. A single line of rails takes you from Lowbay
Junction up the Westmoreland hills to the top of the heaviest gradient
in the kingdom, and then hurtles you down into the little wayside
station of Lansdale, the station for "Raven Crag."

The sturdy tank engine coupled to the short local train was steaming
steadily and noisily, and when the express had rolled heavily out for
Carlisle, the station-master hastily beat up intending passengers for
the branch line. Besides Acton's party, there were only two passengers,
a lady and a little girl.

"I'll give the old tank a good half-hour to crawl the eight miles to the
top of the fells," said Acton, "and then we'll rattle into Lansdale in
ten minutes. But she _will_ cough as she crawls up. Look here, Dick,
I'll have a whole rug, please. This carriage is as cold as a
refrigerator."

The fellows made themselves as comfortable as an unlimited supply of
rugs and a couple of foot-warmers would admit of. Dick Worcester,
without a blush, propped his head against a window and said: "Grim,
there's a lingering death for you if you fail to wake me five minutes
from Lansdale." The others exchanged magazines and yawned hopefully,
whilst Acton took out his Kipling, and straightway forgot snow, home,
and friends.

The station master, and the driver, and the guard held an animated
conversation round the engine. "Strikes me, Bill, the old engine'll
never get t' top of t' bank to-night!" said the guard. "The snow must be
terrible thick in Hudson's cutting."

"She'll do it," said the driver,--"wi' luck."

"Got another engine with steam up," inquired the guard, "to give us a
lift behind?"

"No, they're all shut down, and we couldn't wait now. You'll have to run
her through yourselves," said the station-master. "Nearly four hours
late already! Off with you!"

"I'm doubting we can't do it," said the guard, thoughtfully. "To-night is
the worst night I can remember for years. The expresses could just
manage it."

"Oh, well," said the driver, "we're down to run it, and we're going to
try."

"There'll be drifts twenty feet deep in the cutting, and it'll be like
running into a house," said the guard, slowly, "but I suppose we've got
to try, anyhow."

He walked away thoughtfully to his van, and a moment later there was a
shrill whistle, and the Lansdale local ran out into the night.

And it _wa