“Well, Dad says death is like changing cars on the railroad. If we didn’t change cars, we wouldn’t get to where we belong. He says it’s only a station in life, and the folks who have been friendly with the other things along the road, are always friendly with death.”
“Well, that beats anything I ever heard!” exclaimed Billy. “How do you know when ‘the right time comes’?”
“Well—there’s a Conductor—he’s friendly, too. He tells you when it’s time to change cars, and he never makes a mistake. We needn’t worry about that, Dad says.”
“I’d like to see your Dad, Dick!”
“Maybe you will some day, Bill; he’d like to see you, I’m dead certain.”
“What makes your Dad like that, Dick? My Dad died when I was a little shaver, but I never heard of his saying such things.”
“Well, maybe my Dad didn’t always feel that way himself. I shouldn’t wonder, Billy, if he used to have to do a lot of fighting in himself—something like what you’re doing.”
“I’d like to see him—sure!” repeated Brown.
“You could come over any time,” said Dick cordially; “only Sunday would be the best day. Your town, Northbridge, is the same as ours, only we generally use the East Northbridge station.”
“I’d like to mighty well! Maybe next Sunday! Has your Dad always been a farmer?”