Every night must end, although that one, as it seemed to Allan, was at least forty hours long. His greatest difficulty was to keep awake, for he had been working all day before he came on duty. More than once he caught himself nodding, until, at last, he dared not sit still in his chair, but went out upon the stretch of cindered path before the shanty and tramped up and down it, pausing now and then at the door to make sure his instrument was not calling him. The cool air of the night blew sleepiness from his eyes, at last, and he stood for a long time gazing out over the silent fields. Away in the distance a cock crew; others answered it, hailing the dawn; for the eastern sky began to show a tinge of gray. From every tree and coppice came sleepy twitterings, which, as the east grew brighter, burst into songs of joy to greet the rising sun.
Birds never make the mistake that some boys and girls do, of rising with sour faces—"wrong end ? 89 ? first." They know how much it adds to the day’s happiness to start the day right; they are always glad when morning comes, and they never forget to utter a little song of praise and gratitude for another sunrise. Then they fly to the brook and take their bath, and hunt cheerfully for breakfast. Nor do they lose their tempers if they can’t find some particular worm or bug of which they are especially fond. Truly, bird-ways are worth imitating.
Allan sat down in the door of the shanty to watch the daily miracle which was enacting before him, but which most people have come to regard as a matter of course. It was the first sunrise he had seen for many months—in fact, since the days, seemingly years ago, when he had risen every night to take his trick at guarding the track from train-wreckers. Now, as he sat here, watching the brightening east, all the adventures of that time came vividly back to him, and he smiled to himself as he reviewed them one by one. He had made many firm friends—and one enemy, Dan Nolan, the vicious and vindictive scoundrel who had tried in so many ways to injure him; and had finally joined the gang of desperate tramps who had given the road so much trouble, and who, caught in the very act of trying to wreck the pay-car, had been sentenced to a term in the penitentiary.
Allan had incurred Nolan’s enmity the very first day of his service with the road. Nolan had been ? 90 ? a member of Jack Welsh’s section-gang, and had been discharged for drunkenness. He knew, however, that the place on the gang would be hard to fill, and expected to be taken back again. But that very day, Allan, who had walked all the way from Cincinnati in search of employment, came along, and Welsh, impressed by the boy’s frank and honest face, had given him the place. Nolan had blustered, threatened, and even tried to kill him; and had ended by being sent to the State prison.
Allan’s face darkened as he recalled Nolan’s many acts of enmity, and the thought came to him that he had not yet heard the last of the scoundrel. But this gloomy mood did not endure long, for suddenly a radiant yellow disk peeped over the hills to the east, and flooded the world with golden splendour. The birds’ songs of praise burst forth afresh, and every tree, every plant, every flower and blade of grass, seemed to lift its head and bow toward the east to greet the luminary upon which all life upon the earth depends. Its warm rays drank the dew from the meadows, and over the brook, which ran beside the road, a filmy mist steamed upward from the water. Away off, across the fields, Allan could see a man ploughing, and a herd of cows wandered slowly over a near-by pasture, cropping the fresh grass and blowing clouds of warm and fragrant breath out upon the cool air. Allan resolved that so long as he held this trick, every dawn should find him at the door watching ? 91 ? for the sunrise, the wonder and mystery and beauty of which he was just beginning to understand.
A call from his instrument summoned him back into the office. There were a number of orders to take for trains from east and west, which were to meet and pass at Byers, and by the time these had been duly received, repeated, and O. K.’d, six o’clock had come and gone. Six o’clock was the hour of relief, but Nevins did not appear. After that, every minute seemed an hour, and Allan began to understand Nevins’s feelings the night before, when his own relief did not arrive. He began to fear that he would miss the morning accommodation train to Wadsworth. If he did, he could not get home before noon, and he was desperately tired and sleepy. He went to the door and looked out, but saw no sign of Nevins, and was just turning back into the office, when a low, sneering laugh almost at his elbow caused him to start around. It was Nevins, who stood there grinning maliciously. He had evidently come around the corner of the house, while Allan was looking out across the fields.
“Well,” he sneered, “how d’ ye like it?”
“I don’t like it at all,” said Allan.
“After this,” added Nevins, pushing past him, “you be on time and I will. That’s all I want of you.”
“We’ll have to rearrange our tricks,” said Allan, his cheek flushing at the other’s tone. "I can’t get here until the evening accommodation at six-thirty; ? 92 ? so suppose you come on half an hour later in the morning. That will even things up."
Nevins growled a surly assent, and turning his back ostentatiously, he hung up his coat and flung himself into the chair.
“There are three orders,” added Allan. “One of them—”
“Oh, shut up!” snarled Nevins. “I can read, can’t I?”
“Yes; no doubt you can. But the rules require that I explain outstanding orders to you before I go off duty.”
Nevins looked up at him, an ugly light in his eyes.
“So you’re that kind, are you?” he queried. “Little Sunday-school boy. Ain’t you afraid your mamma’s worryin’ about you?”
“Don’t you want me to—”
“I don’t want you to do nothin’ but get out!” Nevins broke in, and took the orders from the hook and looked over them. “As I said before, I can read. I suppose you can, too. So don’t bother me.”
An angry retort rose to Allan’s lips, but he choked it back; and at that instant a whistle sounded down the line, and the roar of an approaching train. He had just time to grab coat and lunch-basket and swing aboard, and in a moment was off toward Wadsworth.
He sank into a seat, his heart still hot at Nevins’s insolence; and yet, on second thought, he was glad ? 93 ? that he had not yielded to the impulse to return an angry answer. It was natural that Nevins should have been provoked, though the delay of the night before was not Allan’s fault in the slightest degree; and, in any event, there was no use making an enemy of a fellow who might be able to do a great deal of mischief. But one thing Allan resolved on, his lips set: h............