Old Aaron Rockharrt led his granddaughter up to the platform to wait for the train; but no train was in sight or hearing.
Mr. Rockharrt looked at his watch.
"After all, we have seven minutes to wait," he growled, as if time and tide were much in fault at not being at his beck and call.
"Had we not better go into the waiting room?" suggested Cora.
"No, we will stand here," replied the Iron King, who on general principles never acted upon a suggestion.
So there they stood—the old man growling at intervals as he looked up the road; Cora gazing out upon the fine scenery of river and mountain.
Presently the whirr of the coming train was heard. In a minute more it rushed into the station and stopped. There were no other down passengers except Mr. Rockharrt and Mrs. Rothsay.
He handed her up, and took her to a seat. The car was not half full. The tide of travel was northward, not southward at this season.
They were scarcely seated when the train started again. They reached New York just before noon.
"Carriage, sir? Carriage, ma'am? Carriage? Carriage? Carriage?" screamed a score of hackmen's voices, as the passengers came out on the sidewalk.