They were all so busy with their own thoughts that they did not see that the last section of the engine was in place and that Daddy had filled the boiler with water.
Suddenly a black boy began to yell.
"Daddy burn him engine up! Daddy burn him engine up!"
Daddy smiled again and piled under the boiler the splintered wood from the crate. The fire grew hotter and hotter, the people forgot their fear and pressed closer and closer.
Daddy was elated; for years he had prayed for this engine, and for months he had known that it was coming and had wondered whether he would be able to set it up and run it. Now here it was, put together, and with the steam pressure mounting higher and higher. He could not express his joy, but he had something at hand which could. He supposed that this fine engine had a fine whistle and he opened the valve and set it off.
Such a sound had never been heard in that part of the world. It was shriller than the monkey's chatter; it was more penetrating than the roll of the war-drums. Men, women, children—everybody—ran for the woods. Even the goats and the chickens fled. Daddy laughed and laughed, and presently they began to venture back.
"How he live for (does he) holler?" asked one.
"He shoot off wif he mouf!"
"Daddy say he have biler. Where de biler?"
"Yonder de biler!" And half a dozen fingers pointed to the smoke-stack.