“No, nobody’s told me; but I know. I knowed when I saw him goin’ away that he was niver comin’ back.”
“An’ you let him go?”
“Yes, I sent him.”
“Sent him?”
“T’ guard the boy? Did he guard him?”
And Mary Welsh flung herself upon her knees before the other woman and buried her face in her lap.
“He did!” she said, thickly. “With his life.”
Mr. Schofield, relieved of the stress of duty at Cincinnati, arrived at Wadsworth on the early train next day, and at once took charge of the situation. There was much to do. The whole train-service of the road had to be reorganized, the ravelled ends gathered up again, the freight-house rebuilt, traffic provided for; and for four days and nights he thought of nothing else. Then, the first strain past, he put on his hat one afternoon, and started back over the yards to a little house which stood high on an embankment facing them.
He climbed the steep path, and paused for a moment to look down over the yards before knocking at the door. His eyes gleamed with pride as he watched the busy engines, the assembled cars, the evidences of orderly and busy life.