a line across the township of Oro they had
treated Elmbrook in a shabby fashion by placing the station a mile from
the village. The inconvenience of this arrangement was largely
obviated, however, by the obliging ways of Conductor Lauchie
McKitterick. For if any one in the village was late in starting for
the station, all one had to do was to wave a towel at the back door as
the train slowed up over the ravine bridge, and Lauchie would wait at
the station. Of course, it was understood that the belated traveler
was already on the way thither, taking the path across McQuarry's
fields. But of what use to wave all the bed-sheets in Elmbrook this
morning? For though a delay of half an hour or so was neither here nor
there to the Lakeview & Simcoe Limited Express, it was impossible to
expect even so neighborly a body as Lauchie to wait until the big,
heavy buggy and Cameron's farm team should be driven along the
cross-road and down the concession. And as for Hannah Sawyer's 185
pounds being transported across the fields and over the fences in less
time--not to speak of all the orphan's clothes and the pies and the
pound cake and the crock of butter--well, there was no use thinking
about it!

But Mrs. Winters, the indomitable, rose to even this emergency. She
sprang to the buggy and began dragging out the baskets. "We'll stop
him at the bridge!" she screamed. "We can run down the back lane!
Davy Munn, you jump out of that rig an' run ahead! No--Miss Weir, you
go! Lauchie'll have to stop if you tell him!"

It was the first time in her life Mrs. Winters had ever paid a tribute
to the Duke of Wellington's power. Though it was wrung from her by the
exigencies of the case, the schoolmistress accepted it. She snatched a
white garment off the clothes-line, darted through the barnyard, and
ran at top speed down the back lane toward the track, waving it on
high, all unconscious that it was Jake's white mill overalls. Close
upon her flying footsteps came the orphan-adopting expedition: Mrs.
Winters, the bottle of milk leaving a white-sprinkled trail behind her;
Jake, dragging the heaps of wraps and the basket of provisions, with
which little Miss Arabella was vainly trying to assist him; Ella Anne
Long, the basket of pies on her arm, the forgotten one in her other
hand; Mrs. Munn, with the crock of butter; poor Hannah herself far
behind; and lastly, Isaac and Rebekah, their necks outthrust, their
wings wide, streaming a