The engine was thundering past us, and the train drawing to a stop of fifteen seconds.
"Take off your mitten," he said abruptly; I pulled it off with a jerk. He held out his ungloved hand, and I laid mine within it. The two palms, warm, throbbing with coursing life, met—
"Goodby till Monday—and thank you for coming. There he is!"
He had just time to see the Doctor appear on the platform at the other end of the car. Mr. Ewart called to him as he swung himself on to the already moving train:
"John, look out for Miss Farrell—"
The dazed Doctor failed to grasp the situation. Mr. Ewart waved his hand as he passed him; "Till Monday—Miss Farrell will explain."
"Miss Farrell, eh?" The Doctor turned to me who was at his side by means of an awkward skip and a jump, cumbered as I was with the long coat. "Br-r-rre! Is this the weather you give me as a greeting?"
"Why don't you say rather: 'Is this the weather you brave to meet me in?' Would n't that sound more to the point? Come on to the pung; the soapstones are fine."
"Ah—that sounds more like Canadian hospitality. Come on yourself, Marcia Farrell; where's the pung?"
"Behind the station, that is, if the horses have n't bolted with Cale and the four dogs. Here he is."