“That depends. Wet days I’m glad to be in; sorter cozy with a fire and my pipe going. ’Tain’t very big, but it’s fair enough shelter, and it ain’t as if I hadn’t a roomier place to actually live in. I don’t have it so very bad, for there ain’t no night trains and I can get home and have my night’s rest. I’m always in by nine, for there ain’t no trains after six. If this was a big trunk line now, the trains would be chugging by all night.”
“Then don’t the conductors and engineers ever sleep?”
“Some of ’em mighty little. There’s hard tales about how they’re worked. Folks all well?”
“Yes, thank you,” returned Jessie, picking up her books which she had dropped on the ground, and being reminded by Ezra’s remark that she must not stay too long. “I reckon I’d better be going now; mother might be worrying about me.”
Ezra nodded. “That’s right. Days gettin’ kinder short, too. You won’t get home much before sundown, come winter.”
“Won’t I?” Jessie had not thought of this. “I’ll always have to hurry then.”
“And you won’t find me settin’ out in the cold so over often,” said Ezra.
“Good-bye,” said Jessie.
Ezra nodded and waved a stubby hand as if to a departing train, while Jessie ran across the track and took up the last part of her accustomed chant. Hill and Railroad were passed, so there was only Bridge left. “Bridge, Bridge, Bridge, Bridge,” she whispered, keeping time to her pace, and very soon Bridge, too, was left behind and she was within sight of the lane, the house, the barn, and, last, her mother’s anxious face at the window.
“You’re late, dear,” said Mrs. Loomis, as the little girl came into the sitting-room.