The train stopped, and John and Dolly—otherwise Mr. and Mrs. Kemper—alighted, and the gentleman hurried his wife out of the rain and sleet into the depot.
A very forlorn place it looked with its rusty stove, filthy floor and windows, and hard, straight-backed wooden chairs and settee, which gave small promise of rest or ease to the delayed and weary traveller.
“What a wretched hole!” said Mrs. Kemper, sending a rueful glance from side to side. “How long did you say we’d have to stay here, John?”
“Two hours, Dolly. Here, take this chair by the fire, and I’ll go and see what can be done.”
He came back presently, and pointing through the window, “You see that light yonder, Dolly?” he said. “It comes from a shanty some hundred yards away, where they tell me we can at least find cleanliness and a cup of hot tea. There seems a lull in the storm at this moment, too; shall we go and try it?”
“By all means,” she answered, rising with alacrity and taking his offered arm. “I presume the walking is bad enough, but my boots are thick.”
Picking their way carefully between stumps and pools of water, just visible in the deepening gloom, they reached the place.
It was a long, low building of rudest structure, its walls rough boards nailed on horizontally, leaving large cracks between, with merely a covering of painted canvas upon the outside to keep wind and rain at bay. The gable-end with its one door and window, in which burned the lamp that had guided them, faced the road.
Entering, our travellers found themselves in a small waiting-room, very simply furnished, but invitingly warm, clean, and tidy.