Time flew like the end o’ track. With shrill whistle the construction-train backed in again, ready. It scarcely seemed possible that the round trip had been made so soon. The old dumps were vanishing; the last was almost gone; on came the train, rear end first; over went the iron, with a noisy clangor; and back started sturdy 119, dragging her rumbling empties.
On her next trip she brought Terry’s mother and George’s mother.
“Here come our folks,” George cried, spying them as they hastened forward.
“How far?” they queried. That was the universal question: “How far?”
“About three miles. We’re almost at the third mile-stake. We’ll pass it in a minute or two.”
“Are you coming back to dinner when we go?”
“’Tisn’t noon yet, is it?”
“No, but it will be soon.”
“Aw, shucks!” Terry uttered. “We can’t leave for dinner. Not this noon. We’ll eat here, with the gang. We’ve got to be on the job. And so has dad.”
“That’s what he says,” sighed his mother. “But seems to me you can take time to eat at home.”