“The engineer, who had a frank, open countenance and keen, intelligent eyes and iron-gray hair, seized the lever and gave a backward pull, and the engine dashed forward like a ball discharged from a siege gun. Fences, trees and houses all seemed to be flying; the wind whistled about Harry’s face, and played with his dark-brown hair as it floated straight out behind his head. He held his hat in his hand, while his face was all aglow with excitement.
“‘You had better order that boy away from the pilot,’ said the engineer to the conductor, as he opened the throttle to let on more steam; ‘he might get hurt where he is; we are taking great risk anyway; the track, you know, is very crooked from here to the station; if a cow, or hog, or anything should be on the track, he would be killed.’
“‘You had better not ride there, my little man,’ said the conductor, ‘it is very dangerous.’
“Harry sat immovable, as if he had been fastened there with bolts of steel, while the train flew onward at the extraordinary speed of a mile per minute. It is very probable that Harry did not hear the warning given by the conductor, as the noise made by the engine as it thundered on may have prevented it. At all events, he did not move; he was rapidly approaching his destiny; whether that destiny was for weal or woe will be a matter for after consideration. Harry always contended that it was a supernatural influence that compelled him to take his seat on the pilot of that particular engine at that particular time. He said that the influence, or whatever it was, came upon him with such unmistakable distinctness that he would have resisted any attempt to force him away. The more I ridiculed the idea, the more firmly did he stick to it.
“‘It was Providence,’ said he, ‘that is certain.’
“‘I wonder if Providence made old Bob start the rabbit, merely to guide us to the gravel pit?’ said I.
“‘No doubt of it,’ was his reply.
“‘I didn’t know before now that you were so full of superstition.’
“‘If it is superstition to believe that Providence prompted me to ride on the engine that day, then I am overflowed with it.’
“The brave old engineer stood with his hand on the lever, his sleeves rolled above his elbows, his face blackened with smut and smoke, his gray locks pushed back and streaming in the wind. Undaunted courage was stamped on every feature; his lips were firmly closed, and the picture he presented reminded me of the description of Vulcan which I had read in Homer.