A certain Christmas-day approached. On the morning of the day
preceding, Will Garvie--looking as broad and sturdy as ever; a perfect
man, but for the empty sleeve--stood at his post near his sentry-box.
His duties that day were severe. At that season of the year there is a
great increase of traffic on all railways, and you may be sure that the
Grand National Trunk Railway had its full share.
On ordinary occasions about three hundred trains passed Will Garvie's
box, out and in, during the twelve hours, but that day there had been
nearly double the number of passengers, and a considerable increase in
the number of trains that conveyed them, while goods trains had also
increased greatly in bulk and in numbers.
Garvie's box abutted on a bridge, and stood in the very midst of a
labyrinth of intricate crossing lines, over which trains and
pilot-engines were constantly rushing and hissing, backing and whistling
viciously, and in the midst of which, Will moved at the continual risk
of his life, as cool as a cucumber (so Bob Garvie expressed it), and as
safe as the bank.
Although thus situated in the midst of smoke, noise, dust, iron, and
steam, Will Garvie managed to indulge his love for flowers. He had a
garden on the line--between the very rails! It was not large, to be
sure, only about six feet by two--but it was large enough for his
limited desires. The garden was in a wooden trough in front of his
sentry-box. It contained mignonette, roses, and heart's-ease among
other things, and every time that Will passed out of or into his box in
performing the duties connected with the station, he took a look at the
flowers and thought of Loo and the innumerable boys, girls, and babies
at home. We need not say that this garden was beautifully kept.
Whatever Will did he did well--probably because he tended well the
garden of his own soul.
While he was standing outside his box during one of the brief intervals
between trains, an extremely beautiful girl came on the platform and
called across the rails to him.
"Hallo! Gertie--what brings _you_ here?" he asked, with a look of glad
surprise.
"To see _you_," replied Gertie, with a smile that was nothing short of
bewitching.
"How I wish you were a flower, that I might plant you in my garden,"
said the gallant William, as he crossed the rails and reached up to
shake Gertie's hand.
"What a greedy man you are!" said Gertie. "Isn't Loo enough for you?"
"Quite enough," replied Will, "I might almost say more than enough at
times; but come, lass, this ain't the place for a palaver. You came to
speak with me as well as to see me, no doubt."
"Yes, Will, I came with a message from Mrs Tipps. You know that the
railway men are going to present father with a testimonial to-night;
well, Mrs Tipps thinks that her drawing-room won't be large enough, so
she sent me to ask you to let the men know that it is to be presented in
the schoolroom, where the volunteer rifle band is to perform and make a
sort of concert of it."
"Indeed!" said Will.
"Yes; and Mrs Tipps says that Captain Lee is going to give them what
she calls a cold collation, and brother Bob calls a blow-out."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Will.
"Yes, I do; won't it be delightful?" said Gertie.
"Splendid," replied Will, "I'll be sure to be up in good time. But, I
say, Gertie, is young Dorkin to be there?"
Gertie blushed, but was spared the necessity of a reply in consequence
of a deafening whistle which called Will Garvie to his points. Next
moment, a passenger-train intervened, and cut her off from further
communication.
According to promise, Will was at the schoolroom in good time that
evening, with some thirty or forty of his comrades. Loo was there too,
blooming and matronly, with a troop of boys and girls, who seemed to
constitute themselves a body-guard round John Marrot and his wife, who
were both ignorant at that time of the honour that was about to be done
them. John was as grave, sturdy, and amiable as ever, the only
alteration in his appearance being the increased number of silver locks
that mingled with his black hair. Time had done little to Mrs Marrot,
beyond increasing her bulk and the rosiness of her countenance.
It would be tedious to comment on all our old friends who assembled in
the schoolroom on that memorable occasion. We can only mention the
names of Captain Lee (_alias_ Samuel Tough), and Mr Abel, and Mrs
Tipps, and Dr Noble, and Mr Sharp, and David Blunt, and Joe Turner,
and Mrs Durby, with all of whom time seemed to have dealt as leniently
as with John Marrot and his wife. Sam Natly was also there, with his
invalid wife restored to robust health, and supported on either side by
a blooming boy and girl. And Edwin Gurwood was there with his wife and
son and three daughters; and so was Joseph Tipps, looking as if the
world prospered with him, as, indeed, was the case. And, of course,
Netta Tipps was there, and the young curate, who, by the way, was much
stouter and not nearly so stiff as when we first met him. He was
particularly attentive to Netta, and called her "my dear," in a cool
free-and-easy way, that would not have been tolerated for a moment, but
for the fact that they had been married for the last three months. Bob
Marrot was there also--as strapping a young blade as one could wish to
see, with a modest yet fearless look in his eye, that was quite in
keeping with his occupation as driver of the "Flying Dutchman."
There was there, also, a tall, slim, good-looking youth, who seemed to
be on very intimate terms with Bob Marrot. He was well-known as one of
the most rising men at the Clatterby works, who bade fair to become an
overseer ere long. Bob called him Tomtit, but the men of the line
styled him Mister Dorkin. He had brought with him an extremely
wrinkled, dried-up old woman, who appeared to have suffered much, and to
have been dragged out of the lowest depths of poverty. To judge from
appearances she had been placed in a position of great comfort. Such
was in truth the case, and the fine young fellow who had dragged her out
and up was that same Mister Dorkin, who may be said to have been all but
stone-blind that evening, because, from first to last, he saw but one
individual there, and that individual was Gertie. He was almost deaf
too, because he heard only one voice--and that voice was Gertie's.
And Nanny Stocks was there, with "the baby," but _not_ the baby Marrot!
_That_ baby--now a stout well-grown lad--was seated beside his mother,
paying her all sorts of delicate attentions, such as picking up her
handkerchief when she dropped it, pushing her bonnet on her head when,
in her agitation, it fell back on her neck, and beating her firmly on
the back when she choked, as she frequently did that evening from sheer
delight. No doubt in this last operation he felt that he was paying off
old scores, for many a severe beating on the back had Mrs Marrot given
him in the stormy days of his babyhood.
The baby of whom Nanny Stocks was now the guardian was baby Gurwood, and
a strong resemblance it bore to the old baby in the matters of health,
strength, fatness, and self-will. Miss Stocks was one of those human
evergreens which years appear to make no impression on at all. From her
shoe-latchet to her topmost hair-pin she was unalterably the same as she
had been in days gone by. She treated the new baby, too, as she had
treated the old--choked it with sweetmeats and kisses, and acted the
part of buffer to its feet and fists.
It would take a volume to give the full details of all that was said and
done, and played and sung, on that Christmas-eve. We can only touch on
these things. The brass band of the volunteers surpassed itself. The
songs--volunteered or called for--were as good as songs usually are on
festive occasions, a few of them being first-rate, especially one which
was sung by a huge engine-driver, with shoulders about a yard broad, and
a beard like the inverted shako of a guardsman. It ran thus--