ts pockets unnoticed by him as he did so, and Paul was on
the point of calling his attention to it. He did not, however, because
the smith's helper, a slim, dreary-looking young man, to whom nobody
ever paid much attention, also noticed the falling object, and picked it
up without being seen by Job. Gazing at it curiously for a moment, he
restored it, as Paul thought, to the pocket from which it had fallen. In
reality, he slipped it into a pocket of his own coat which lay under
that of his boss.

Derrick now came back, and with him Paul went to the door that he was to
tend. Just inside of it, on a platform laid above the ditch of black,
rapidly flowing water, stood a rude arm-chair made out of rough boards.
Above it hung a board full of holes into which several pegs were thrust.
Derrick told Paul that with these pegs he must keep tally of the number
of loaded cars that passed this station, and that he must always be
ready to answer promptly the call of "Door." Within reach from the chair
was a lever by means of which the switch was moved. Paul was told that
after each door call there would come another explaining on which track
the approaching cars were to go, and that he must listen carefully for
it and set the switch accordingly. After showing him the large oil-can
from which he might refill his lamp, Derrick bade him good-by and
returned to his own work.

This morning passed much more pleasantly to the young mule-driver than
the first one had. Not only did Tom Evert greet him cordially, and thank
him for what he had done for Paul, but Monk Tooley gave him a gruff
"Mornin', lad," and most of the other men spoke pleasantly to him, as
though to atone in a measure for his previous suffering. Above all, he
occasionally had to pass Paul's station, and the mere sight of his
faithful friend leaning on his crutch and holding open the door was a
source of joy.

As Paul had much spare time on his hands, he occupied it in becoming
acquainted with his surroundings, and was especially interested in the
curious markings on the black slate walls of the gangway near his door.
Many of these were in the form of exquisite ferns, others of curious
leaves such as he had never seen, quaint patterns like the scales and
bones of queer fishes, or the ripplings of water on a smooth beach. In
one place he found tiny tracks, as though a small bird had run quickly
across it, and had stamped the imprint of its feet on the hard surface.

It was