to light work at first at the station of Clatterby. By
degrees his strength returned, and he displayed so much intelligence,
and such calmness of nerve and coolness of courage, that he was made a
pointsman at the station, and had a sentry-box sort of erection, with
windows all round it, apportioned to his daily use. There he was
continually employed in shifting the points for the shunting of trains,
none of which dared to move, despite their mighty power and impatience,
until Will Garvie gave them leave.

To John Marrot, the accident although not severe at first, had proved
more damaging in the long-run. No bones had been broken, or limbs lost,
but John had received a shake so bad that he did not resume his duties
with the same vigour as heretofore. He continued to stick to his post,
however, for several years, and, before giving it up, had the pleasure
of training his son Bob in the situation which Garvie had been obliged
to resign. Bob's heart you see, had been all along set on driving the
_Lightning_; he therefore gladly left the "Works" when old enough,--and
when the opportunity offered,--to fill the preliminary post of fireman.

During this period Edwin Gurwood rose to a responsible and sufficiently
lucrative situation in the Clearing-House. At the same time he employed
much of his leisure in cultivating the art of painting, of which he was
passionately fond. At first he painted for pleasure, but he soon found,
on exhibiting one or two of his works, that picture-dealers were willing
to purchase from him. He therefore began to paint for profit, and
succeeded so well that he began to save and lay by money, with a view to
that wife with the nut-brown hair and the large lustrous eyes, who
haunted his dreams by night and became his guiding-star by day.

Seeing him thus wholly immersed in the acquisition of money, and not
knowing his motive, his faithful little friend Joe Tipps one day amazed,
and half-offended him, by reminding him that he had a soul to be cared
for as well as a body. The arrow was tenderly shot, and with a
trembling hand, but Joe prayed that it might be sent home, and it was.
From that date Edwin could not rest. He reviewed his life. He
reflected that everything he possessed, or hoped for, came to him, or
was to come, from God; yet as far as he could make out he saw no
evidence of the existence of religion in himself save in the one fact
that he went regularly to church on Sundays. He res