All this speech from Will. And each one wrote his name under Will's, saying what he would give or do.
Then came the word of command from our young engineer:
"Now to business. Each one to his home as fast as his legs will carry him, and bring an axe or spade or hoe or some tool. I'll run to father for the charter—what's that? Then let's make the dirt fly."
When I went by a few days after, by the foot of the orchard, sure enough, there they were; coats off, each one busy as a bee, Will acting as engineer.
The grading—what's that?—was nearly all done. Will said they would lay the ties—what are they?—and rails(?) the next Monday, and soon I should hear the whistle.
True to his promise, on the appointed day came the "toot, toot, toot," louder and louder till the hills sent back the sound.
I looked, and there came the train, built of wood "from stem to stern," and drawn by two stout goats, instead of steam, while Jim sat on the engine with a tin horn to his mouth, his cheeks puffed out like two pumpkins.
That's years ago. Will is now Mr. William —, a first class railroad man. So are some of the others.
But when I see them building those fine roads, I wonder if they will ever travel on "The King's Highway of Holiness." Have you a ticket to go up in His chariot one of these days and enter the City of God?