“There you are,” he said. “An’ I’m glad t’ do it, darlint. Fer this place suits me, too.”
And a pair of red-birds in the lilac hedge were astonished and somewhat scandalized to see the woman, who had been sitting quietly enough, fling herself upon him and hug him until he begged for mercy.
Mamie had remained at home to entertain Allan, which she did by getting him to read to her. She had grown to like Jean Valjean, too, though she preferred the thrilling portions of the story to the quieter ones which told of Bishop Welcome. This time she chose to hear again of Jean Valjean’s flight across Paris with Cosette—how she shivered when he allowed that piece of money to rattle on the floor, or when, looking backward, he saw the police following him through the night; how she shuddered when he found himself trapped in that blind alley, hemmed in by lofty walls, where all seemed lost; and then the horrors of the hours that followed—But once Cosette was stowed safely away in the hut of the old, lame gardener, the curly head began to nod, and Allan, looking up at last from his reading, saw that she had gone to sleep.
He laid his book aside, and sat for a long time looking down over the yards, busy even on Sunday; for the work of a great railroad never ceases, day or night, from year end to year end. He thought of the evening, nearly three years agone, when he had first crossed the yards by Jack Welsh’s side, a homeless boy, who was soon to find a home indeed. How many times he had crossed them since! How many times—
A man was crossing them now, a well-dressed, well-set-up man, whom, even at that distance, the boy knew perfectly. It was Mr. Schofield, who had proved himself so true a friend. Allan, as he came nearer, waved at him from the window, pleased at the chance for even a distant greeting; but instead of passing by, the trainmaster entered the gate and mounted toward the house. Allan had the door open in a moment.
“Why, hello,” said the trainmaster, shaking his outstretched hand warmly. “Are you as spry as all this? You’ll soon be able to report for duty.”
“I can report to-morrow, if you need me, sir,” Allan answered. “I can’t indulge in any athletics, yet, but I can work a key all right. Besides, I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing.”
“Well, we’ll say Thursday,” said Mr. Schofield. “I can manage to worry along without you till then.”
“I’ll be on hand Thursday morning,” Allan promised.