They were in Carin’s pony cart as they held this conversation, on their way down to the station, and it seemed as they drove along the one macadamized road in the county, that everyone they knew was bent in the same direction.
True, it was nighttime, but the lanterns and lamps revealed the identity of the travelers. Amusements were not many at Lee, and the coming of the new Methodist minister and his family was an event worthy of notice. Moreover, the fame of the Reverend Absalom Summers had gone abroad. His strong bright gifts, his hearty, brotherly nature, his way of finding nothing too small for his interest or too great for his inquisitiveness, had won him friends. So they gathered—these friendly, waiting neighbors—in the draughty little waiting room of the station and waited for the nine o’clock train.
The peculiarities of this nine o’clock train were well known. It had acquired a habit of arriving at about a quarter of ten, and it was not until the hands of the clock and of the frequently consulted watches of the male members approached that hour, that anyone thought of going out to look up the track. But there it was, sure enough, faithful to the time it had chosen for itself. Its flaring headlight could be seen away up the mountains. The air was nipping, and the company of watchers shivered together, but they would none of them go back into the station now that the headlight really was in sight.
Moreover, though they would not say so, they loved to be out among the mountains—those mountains that were as the very soul of their lives, that held them together, that gave meaning to their secret motives, to their religion, to their daily work. They loomed now, darkest purple against the starry sky. The wind swept down from them, fresh with an indescribable freshness. An owl called—was silent—then called again. Lights shone out from the houses in the village, and from the scattered cabins along the mountain sides. Now and then there was a movable light high on the mountain, as some hill farmer made his way to his house from a neighbor’s, or from his visit to town, or from looking after his stock.
The headlight disappeared as the train swept around the horseshoe bend. Then it burst upon them like a menacing star. It rushed towards them. There was a shriek as of a giant taken prisoner. The train was there! The conductor got down and exchanged greetings, and an enormously tall and thin man appeared, carrying many bundles.
“There he is! It’s the Elder. There’s Mr. Summers,” cried the people. They surged forward, pulled the man from the steps, seized his bundles, and waited while he assisted a little lady to alight.
“Why, she isn’t as large as we are, Azalea,” whispered Carin.
“I know,” Azalea whispered back, quivering as she hugged her companion’s arm. “I told you—”
But Carin was not to know what Azalea had told her, for at that moment the voice of the little lady was heard saying: