With puffs and snorts, as of rage at being stopped in its wild career, the engine came to a standstill just beyond the upper end of the station, so as to bring the two passenger cars nearly opposite the building.
With a faint inkling of what they were to expect, the spectators stood looking on with gaping mouths and staring eyes, while the tall, stoop-shouldered figure of Deacon Cornhill appeared on the rear platform. His benevolent features were lighted with an uncommon glow, as he gazed upon the crowd gathered thus unexpectedly about the station. Hesitating but a moment, he stepped down the steps, and then turned to look back.
The object of his gaze was soon apparent, for at that moment other passengers were following him from the car. In the lead of these came a tall, rather good-looking, but plainly dressed, boy of seventeen, with pinched features, but flashing eyes, none other than Ragged Rob, ex-bootblack of New York. Leaning on his arm was a middle-aged woman, beyond doubt in the minds of the onlookers his mother. Her countenance was thin and careworn, while her brown hair was thickly streaked with threads of silver.
No sooner had Rob assisted his mother down the steps than he turned to help others in lifting a pallid-faced woman, who was an invalid, from the car. Close behind her came a pale, frightened girl, who shrank near to Rob at sight of the wondering spectators. They were Mrs. Willet and Joey.
While the poor invalid was carried to a settee at one side of the station, a woman, with cadaverous countenance and wild eyes, and a man who had to be lifted down from the car, reached the platform, the latter being borne to a second bench. Then an elderly woman, with a strange-looking peaked cap and squat figure, followed, while close behind her came a girl of fourteen and five boys, ranging in ages from ten to fifteen years.
During this brief delay a small lot of baggage had been thrown upon the station floor, and as the last of the ill-favored passengers alighted, the conductor waved his hand, the bell rang, the engine puffed anew, the wheels began to revolve, and the train rolled away, leaving the little group of fifteen persons the center of observation for many pairs of eyes.
“For gracious’ sake, what have you been doing, deacon?” asked ’Squire Hardy, a short, thickset individual, who had been among the first to reach the place. He was troubled with asthma, and the exertion in reaching the station had put him both out of breath and good humor.
Though amazed at this most unexpected greeting, Deacon Cornhill soon recovered his surprise enough to say:
“I have just brung home a leetle comp’ny, ’squire. I——”
“Huh!” was the rejoinder, “Comp’ny? I should say comp’ny! Where’d you pick that ’sortment of folks?”