Діти залізниці
Peter’s coal-mine.
Theverysleepersonwhichtherailslaywereadelightfulpathtotravelby—justfarenoughaparttoserveasthestepping-stonesinagameoffoamingtorrentshastilyorganisedbyBobbie.
Thentoarriveatthestation,notthroughthebookingoffice,butinafreebootingsortofwaybytheslopingendoftheplatform.Thisinitselfwasjoy.
Joy,too,itwastopeepintotheporters’room,wherethelampsare,andtheRailwayalmanaconthewall,andoneporterhalfasleepbehindapaper.
Therewereagreatmanycrossinglinesatthestation;someofthemjustranintoayardandstoppedshort,asthoughtheyweretiredofbusinessandmeanttoretireforgood.Trucksstoodontherailshere,andononesidewasagreatheapofcoal—notalooseheap,suchasyouseeinyourcoalcellar,butasortofsolidbuildingofcoalswithlargesquareblocksofcoaloutsideusedjustasthoughtheywerebricks,andbuiltuptilltheheaplookedlikethepictureoftheCitiesofthePlainin‘BibleStoriesforInfants.’Therewasalineofwhitewashnearthetopofthecoalywall.
WhenpresentlythePorterloungedoutofhisroomatthetwice-repeatedtinglingthrillofagongoverthestationdoor,Petersaid,"Howdoyoudo?"inhisbestmanner,andhastenedtoaskwhatthewhitemarkwasonthecoalfor.
"Tomarkhowmuchcoaltherebe,"saidthePorter,"soaswe’llknowifanyonenicksit.
