Robert Hardy's Seven Days: A Dream and Its Consequences

by Charles M. Sheldon

He had been unnerved at the funeral, and had felt remorse more keenly than he had once thought possible. As he reviewed the events of the day with his wife, he felt dissatisfied. And yet he had truly tried to do his duty in the light of eternity. What more could he do?

He felt anxious about George, and told his wife of the conversation he had had with him. Mrs. Hardy felt the same anxiety as her husband. After the horses were put up and the father and mother had gone into the house, they continued the conversation. Alice was upstairs with George, and the other children had not come back. It was dark, but husband and wife sat by the light of the open fire and talked together until nearly six o'clock. Mr. Hardy had just said something about Clara, and Mrs. Hardy replied, "Isn't it about time they were here?" when the telephone bell rang in the little office adjoining the hallway, connected by wire with the shops, where Mr. Hardy attended to some of the business of the company. He went in and answered the call, and a series of sharp exclamations and questions was soon followed by his coming back into the room where his wife sat. By the light of the open fire she could see that he was very pale. His overcoat was lying on the couch where he had thrown it as he came in. He hastily put it on, and then said to his wife:

"Mary, there has been an accident to the six o'clock way-train between Baldwin and here, and Burns has telephoned me to come down. Don't be alarmed. We will hope for the best."

Mrs. Hardy started up.

"Why, Will and Bess and Clara were coming home on that train!"

"Mary, let us hope for the best." Mr. Hardy's voice trembled, but he tried to speak calmly and in comfort.

"What did Mr. Burns telephone? Tell me all, Robert. I can bear it with you."

"He telephoned that the train was derailed and a dozen people killed and as many injured. I must go down the road at once! O my God, spare our dear ones!"

Mr. Hardy was almost overwhelmed by this last stroke, yet he asked himself how many accidents had occurred this last year on the road without his giving much thought to the suffering of those families afflicted! Now perhaps it had come to him. Bidding his wife pray and hope, he rushed out of the house and down to the station with the energy and rapidity of the youth who in college days had taken prizes for athletic superiority.

At the yard he found a special train just ready to go to the scene of the accident. It consisted of a wrecking car, a caboose, and one coach with tender and engine. He mounted the engine with a feeling that it was a little nearer the fatal spot and would reach there first. At the last minute no more definite news concerning the particular persons killed and injured had been received.