as hailed with the news. Before Tom had well
made the punt shipshape for a driving cruise up the Bay she was on the
wharf with a bucket of hardtack and a kettle of water. A frantic
scream--perhaps, a shout--announced the coming of Mrs. Skipper William
with a ham-bone and a greatcoat. These tossed inboard, she roared a
command to delay, gathered up her skirts and fled into the night,
whence she emerged, bounding, with a package of tea and a boiled
lobster. She had no breath left to bid them Godspeed when Tom Topsail
cast off; but she waved her great soft arms, and her portly person
shook with the violence of her good wishes. And up went the sail--and
out fluttered the little jib--and the punt heeled to the harbour
breeze--and Tom Topsail and Archie Armstrong darted away from the
lights of Ruddy Cove towards the open sea.

* * * * *

The mixed accommodation, somewhere far back in the Newfoundland
wilderness, came to the foot of a long grade. She puffed and valiantly
choo-chooed. It was desperately hard work to climb that hill. A man
might have walked beside her while she tried it. But she surmounted
the crest, at last, and, as though immensely proud of herself, rattled
down towards the boulder-strewn level at an amazing rate of speed. On
she went, swaying, puffing, roaring, rattling, as though she had no
intention whatever of coming to a stop before she had brought her five
hundred mile run to a triumphant conclusion in the station at St.
John's.

Even the engineer was astonished.

"Doin' fine," thought the fireman, proud of his head of steam.

"She'll make up them three hours afore mornin'," the engineer hoped.

On the next grade the mixed accommodation lagged. It was a steep
grade. She seemed to lose enthusiasm with every yard of puffing
progress. She began to pant--to groan--to gasp with horrible fatigue.
Evidently she fancied it a cruel task to be put to. And the grade was
long--and it was outrageously steep--and they had overloaded the
little engine with freight cars--and she wasn't yet half-way up. It
would take the heart out of any engine. But she buckled to, once more,
and trembled and panted and gained a yard or two. It was hard work; it
was killing work. It was a ghastly outrage to demand such effort of
_any_ engine, most of all of a rat-trap attached to a mixed
accommodation on an ill-graded road. The Rat-Trap snorted her
indignation. She howled with agony and de