“Near by dar, sah! Clus on to it!” cried the old man, eagerly, delighted at hearing the familiar name.
“Well, then you want to take the first through train going east, and it won’t be along till midnight.”
With this the busy railroad man hurried on, leaving our friends gazing at each other in dismay. Midnight! and now it was only seven o’clock. What should they do and where should they go to pass those five hours? They did not dare go very far from the railway station, and so they wandered aimlessly about in the darkness near it, growing more weary, more wet, cold, and uncomfortable with each moment.
At length they paused before an empty freight car, one door of which was partly open. Why not seek shelter from the storm in it?
Nobody saw them as they climbed into the car, which they found to be half filled with sacks of corn-meal. On these they made themselves quite comfortable, and here they decided to wait patiently until the lighted clock on a tower above the station which they could see from the car door, should tell them that it was nearly midnight. Of course they had no idea of going to sleep. That would never do; for they must watch the clock. How slowly its hands crept round. Arthur resolutely turned his eyes away from it, determined not to look again for at least half an hour. When satisfied that that length of time had elapsed, he glanced at its round yellow face, only to find that barely five minutes had passed. He spoke of this to Uncle Phin, but received no answer. The old man was fast asleep.
“Poor Uncle Phin!” said the boy to himself. “He must be very tired, and I won’t wake him till it’s time to go.”
So Arthur watched the lighted clock until it looked like a moon, and then he rubbed his eyes to make sure that it was not winking and laughing at him. And then—and then he too was fast asleep, with one arm thrown about Rusty’s neck, and the only sounds to be heard were the patter of rain on the roof of the motionless freight car, and the regular breathing of its three tired occupants.
An hour later two men, carrying lanterns and wearing rubber coats that glistened with the wet, came along and paused before the freight car. One of them consulted a way bill. “Yes, this is it,” he said. “No. 201, corn-meal for Harrisburg. Six sacks to be left at Arden. That’s all right. Shut her up, Joe. It was mighty careless of those fellows to leave the door open.”
Then Joe pushed the heavy door to, with a slam. It fastened with a spring lock, and the men with the lanterns walked away to look up the rest of their train. A little later an engine came rolling softly along the wet track to where the car stood. There was a bump, a rattle of coupling pins and links, a swinging of lanterns, and the car was drawn away, past the multitude of little red, and green, and yellow lights twinkling through the rain and darkness like big fire-flies, and marking the switches.
The car was hauled and pushed hither and thither, and others were attached to it, until at length a long train was made up. The great locomotive panted, eager to be off, and its hot breath made little clouds of fleecy steam, that were edged with flame by the glow from its open-mouthed furnace. The brakemen were at their posts on the slippery tops of the cars; the caboose at the rear end of the train looked warm and comfortable. The red lights, shining like angry eyes, were hung in position on its sides near the rear end, and freight train No. 15 was in readiness for a start.