A storm was brewing1 in the mountains. The white glare of the earlier day had been supplanted2 by a dull gray, and the peaks that shut the winter landscape in were "smoking," sure harbinger of a blizzard4 already raging in the high Sierras. The pines above the Crogans' cabin stood like spectral5 sentinels in the failing light, their drooping6 branches heavy with the snow of many storms. Mrs. Tom Crogan sat at the window looking listlessly into the darkening day.
In the spring she had come with her husband from the little Minnesota town that was their home, full of hope and the joy of life. The mountains were beautiful then with wild flowers and the sweet smell of fragrant7 firs, and as she rocked her baby to sleep in their deep shadows she sang to him the songs her mother had crooned over her cradle in her tuneful Swedish tongue. Life then had seemed very fair, and the snowshed hardly a shadow across it. For to her life there were two sides: one that looked out upon the mountains and the trees and the wild things that stirred in God's beautiful world; the other the blind side that turned toward the
[18]
darkness man had made in his fight to conquer that world. Tom Crogan was a dispatcher at a signal station in the great snowsheds that stretched forty miles or more up the slopes of the Sierras, plunging8 the road to the Land of Sunshine into hour-long gloom just when the jagged "saw-tooth" peaks, that give the range its name, came into sight. Travelers knew them to their grief: a huge crawling thing of timber and stout9 planks—so it seemed as one caught fleeting10 glimpses of it in the brief escapes from its murky11 embrace—that followed the mountain up, hugging its side close as it rose farther and farther toward the summit. Hideous12 always, in winter buried often out of sight by the smashing avalanches13 Old Boreas hurled14 at the pigmy folk who dared challenge him in his own realm; but within the shelter of the snowsheds they laughed at his bluster15, secure from harm, for then it served its appointed purpose.
The Crogans' house fronted or backed—whichever way one chose to look at it—upon the shed. Tom's office, where the telegraph ticker was always talking of men and things in the desert sands to the east, or in the orange groves16 over the Divide, never saw the sunshine it told of. It burrowed17 in perpetual gloom. Nine times a day trains full of travelers, who peered curiously18 at the signalmen with their lanterns and at Tom as so many human moles19 burrowing20 in the mountain, came and went,
[19]
and took the world of men with them, yawning as they departed at the prospect21 of more miles of night. At odd intervals22 long freight trains lingered, awaiting orders, and lent a more human touch. For the engineer had time to swap23 yarns24 with Tom, and the brakemen looked in to chuck the baby under the chin and to predict, when their smudge faces frightened him, that he would grow up to be as fine a railroader as his father: his yell was as good as a whistle to "down brakes." Even a wandering hobo once in a while showed his face from behind the truck on which he was stealing a ride 'cross country, and grimaced25 at Mrs. Tom, safe in the belief that she would not give him away. And she didn't.
But now the winter had come with the heavy snows that seemed never to end. She could not venture out upon the mountain where the pines stood buried many feet deep. In truth there was no getting out. Her life side was banked up, as it were, to stay so till spring came again. As she sat watching the great white waste that sloped upward toward the lowering sky she counted the months: two, three, four—five, probably, or six, to wait. For this was Christmas, and the winter was but fairly under way. Five months! The winters were hard enough on the plains, but the loneliness of these mountains! What glad visiting and holiday-making were going on now in her old home among kindred and friends! There it was truly a season of
[20]
kindliness and good cheer; they had brought their old Norse Yule with them across the seas. She choked back a sob28 as she stirred the cradle with her foot. For Tom's sake she would be brave. But no letter nor word had come from the East, and this their first Christmas away from home!
There was a man's step on the stairs from the office, and Tom Crogan put his head through the doorway29.
"Got a bite for a hungry man?" he asked, blinking a bit at the white light from without.
The baby woke up and gurgled. Tom waved the towel at him, drying his face at the sink, and hugged his wife as she passed.
"Storm coming," he said, glancing out at the weather and listening to the soughing of the wind in the pines.
"Nothing else here," she replied, setting the table; "nothing this long while, and, oh, Tom!"—she set down the plate and went over to him—"no word from home, and this is Christmas Eve. Nothing even for the baby."
He patted her back affectionately, and cheered her after the manner of a man.
"Trains all late, the snow is that deep, more particular in the East, they say. Mail might not come through for a week. Baby don't know the difference so long as he is warm. And coal we've got a-plenty."
[21]
"Then it will be New Year's," she pursued her own thoughts drearily30. Tom was not a good comforter just then.
He ate like a tired man, in silence. "Special on the line," he said, as he stirred the sugar in his coffee. "When the road opens up she'll follow right on the Overland."
"Some o' your rich folks, most like, going for a holiday on the Coast," she commented without interest. Tom nodded. She gave the stove lid an impatient twist.
"Little they know," she said bitterly, "or care either, how we live up here in the sheds. They'd oughter take their turn at it a while. There's the Wrights with Jim laid up since he broke his leg at the time o' the wreck31, and can't seem to get no strength. And the Coulsons with their old mother in this grippin' cold, an' all the sickness they've had, an' he laid off, though he wasn't to blame, an' you know it, Tom. If it hadn't been for you what would 'a' come to the Overland runnin' straight for that wrecked32 freight with full head o' steam——"
Tom looked up good-humoredly and pushed back his plate.
"Why, Mary! what's come over you? I only done what I was there to do—and they took notice all right. Don't you remember the Company wrote and thanked me for bein' spry?"
"Thanked you!" contemptuously. "What good
[22]
is that? Here we be, an' like to stay till——You can come up if you want to."
The invitation was extended, ungraciously enough, to a knot of men clustered about the steps. They trooped in, a gang of snow-shovelers fresh from their fight with the big drifts, and stood about the stove, the cold breath of outdoors in their looks and voices. Their talk was of their work just finished. The road was clear, but for how long? And they flapped their frozen mittens33 toward the window through which the snow could be seen already beginning to fall in large, ominous34 flakes35. The Special was discussed with eager interest. No one knew who it was—an unusual thing. Generally words came along the line giving the news, but there had been no warning of this one.
"Mebbe it's the President inspectin'," ventured one of the crew.
"I tank it bane some o' dem Wall Street fellers on one big bust," threw in a husky Swede.
In the laugh that followed this sally the ticker was heard faintly clicking out a message in the office below.
Tom listened. "Overland three hours late," he said, and added with a glance outside as he made ready to go: "like as not they'll be later'n that; they won't keep Christmas on the Coast this while."
The snow-shovelers trailed out after Tom with many a fog-horn salute36 of Merry Christmas to his
[23]
wife and to the baby. The words, well meant, jarred harshly upon Mrs. Crogan.
Merry Christmas! It sounded in her ear almost like a taunt37. When they were gone she stood at the window, struggling with a sense of such bitter desolation as she had never known till then. The snow fell thick now, and was whirled across the hillside in fitful gusts38. In the gathering39 darkness trees and rocks were losing shape and color; nothing was left but the white cold, the thought of which chilled her to the marrow40. Through the blast the howl of a lone27 wolf came over the ridge41, and she remembered the story of Donner Lake, just beyond, and the party of immigrants who starved to death in the forties, shut in by such a winter as this. There were ugly tales on the mountain of things done there, which men told under their breath when the great storms thundered through the cañons and all were safe within. She had heard the crew of the rotary42 say that there was as much as ten feet of snow on some of the levels already, and the winter only well begun. Without knowing it she fell to counting the months to spring again: two, three, four, five! With a convulsive shudder43 she caught up the child and fled to the darkest corner of the room. Crouching44 there by the fire her grief and bitterness found vent26 in a flood of rebellious45 tears.
Down in his dark coop Tom Crogan, listening to a distant roar and the quickening rhythm of the
[24]
rails, knew that the Overland was coming. Presently it shot out from behind the shoulder of the mountain. Ordinarily it passed swiftly enough, but to-day it slowed up and came to a stop at the station. The conductor hurried into the office and held an anxious consultation46 with Tom, who shook his head decisively. If the storm kept up there would be no getting out that night. The cut over at the lake that had just been cleared was filling up again sure with the wind blowing from the north. There was nothing to do but wait, anyhow until they knew for certain. The conductor agreed with bad grace, and the rotary was started up the road to reconnoiter. The train discharged its weary and worried passengers, who walked up and down the dark cavern47 to stretch their legs, glancing indifferently at the little office where the telegraph kept up its intermittent48 chatter49.
Suddenly it clicked out a loud warning: "Special on way. Clear the track."
Tom rapped on his window and gave quick orders. The men hurried to carry them out.
"Not far she'll go," they grinned as they set the switch and made all safe. At the turn half a mile below the red eye of the locomotive gleamed already in the dusk. In a few minutes it pulled in with a shriek50 of its whistle that woke the echoes of the hills far and near, and stood panting in a cloud of steam. Trackmen and signalmen craned their necks
[25]
to see the mysterious stranger. Even Mrs. Tom had dried her tears and came out to look at the despised bigbugs from the East, rebellion yet in her homesick heart.
The news that the "Big Boss" might be on board had spread to the passenger train, and crowds flocked from the sleepers51, curious to get a glimpse of the railroad magnate who had made such a stir in the land. His power was so great that common talk credited him with being stronger than Congress and the courts combined. The newspapers recorded all his doings as it did the President's, but with this difference, that while everybody knew all about the Man in the White House, few if any seemed to know anything real about the railroad man's private life. In the popular estimation he was a veritable Sphinx. At his country home in the East he had bought up the land for five miles around—even the highways—to keep intruders out. Here now was an unexpected chance, and the travelers crowded up to get a look at him.
But they saw no luxurious52 private car with frock-coated officials and liveried servants. An every-day engine with three express cars in tow stood upon the track, and baggagemen in blue overalls53 yelled for hand-trucks, and hustled54 out boxes and crates56 consigned57 to "The agent at Shawnee." Yet it was not an every-day train nor an ordinary crew; for all of them, conductor, brakemen, engineer and fireman,
[26]
wore holly58 in their caps and broad grins on their faces. The locomotive flew two white flags with the words "Merry Christmas" in red letters, and across the cars a strip of canvas was strung their whole length, with the legend "The Christmas Train" in capitals a foot long. Even in the gloom of the snowshed it shone out, plain to read.
Tom in his office rubbed his eyes for another and better look when the conductor of the Special, pushing his way through the wondering crowds, flung open the door.
"Here's yer docyments," he said, slapping down a paper, "and the orders are that ye're to see they gets 'em."
Tom Crogan took up the paper as if dazed, and looked at the entries without in the least understanding what it all meant. He did not see the jam of railroad men and passengers who had crowded into the office on the heels of the conductor until they filled it to the doors. Neither did he notice that his wife had come with them and was standing59 beside him looking as mystified as he. Mechanically he read out the items in the way-bill, while the conductor checked them off with many a wink60 at the crowd. What nightmare was this? Had some delirious61 Santa Claus invaded the office of the union Pacific Railroad, and turned it into a toy shop and dry-goods bazar combined, with a shake of his reindeer62 bells? Or was it a huge,
[27]
wretched, misbegotten joke? Surely stranger bill of lading never went over the line, or over any railroad line before. This was what he read:
"Crate55 of fat turkeys, one for every family on the station (their names followed).
"One ditto of red apples.
"One ditto of oranges, to be similarly apportioned63.
"For Tom Crogan, one meerschaum pipe.
"For James Wright, lately injured in the service and not yet recovered, a box of books, and allowance of full pay during disability. Ordered to report at Sacramento until fully64 restored.
"For John Coulson, Christmas gifts, including a warm flannel65 wrapper for his old mother; also notice of back pay allowed since suspension, with full restoration to place and pay.
"For Mrs. Thomas Crogan, not on the official payroll66, but whom the Company takes this opportunity to thank for assistance rendered her husband on a recent occasion, one dress pattern, with the wishes of the Superintendent67's office for a very Merry Christmas.
"For Master Thomas Crogan, not yet on the official payroll, being under age, a box of toys, including rubber ball and sheep, doll and Noah's ark, with the compliments of the Company for having chosen so able a railroad man for his father.
"For Master Thomas Crogan, as a token of regard from passengers on the Overland of November 18, one rocking-horse, crated68."
"Oh, Tom!"—Mrs. Crogan caught her breath with a gasp—"and he not a year old!"
[28]
Tom looked up to find the room full of people laughing at him and at her, but there was hearty69, happy good-will in the laugh, and Mrs. Tom was laughing back.
The conductor got up to go, but checked himself abruptly70. "If I didn't come near to forget," he said and reached for his pocket. "Here, Tom, this is for you from the Superintendent. If it ain't a secret read it aloud."
The message was brief:
Thomas Crogan, Esq.,
Agent and Dispatcher at Shawnee Station:
The compliments of the season and of the Superintendent's office to you. Have a Merry Christmas, Tom, up in your shed, for we want you down on the Coast after New Year's.
Frank Alden,
Superintendent.
Tom looked up with a smile. He had got his bearings at last. There was no doubt about that signature. His eyes met his wife's, brimming with sudden joy. The dream of her life was made real.
The railroad men raised a cheer in which there was a note of regret, for Tom was a prime favorite with them all, and crowded up to shake hands. The passengers followed suit, ready to join in, yet mystified still. But now, when they heard from the conductor of the Special how Tom by quick action had saved the Overland, the very train they were
[29]
on, from running into a wrecked freight two months before, many of them remembered the story of it—how Tom, being left alone when everybody else lost his head in the smashup, had sprinted71 down the track with torpedoes72, while his wife set the switch and waved the signal lantern, and had just caught the Limited around the curve, and how narrow had been the escape from a great disaster. And their quick sympathy went out to the young couple up in the lonely heights, who a few moments before had been less to them than the inert73 thing of iron and steel that was panting on the track outside like a huge monster after a hard run.
When it was learned that both trains were stalled, perhaps for all night, the recollection that it was Christmas Eve gave sudden direction to their sympathies. Since friends on the Coast must wait they would have their Christmas where they were, if it were in a snowshed. In less time than any one could have made a formal motion the trainful of excited passengers, just now so disgruntled, resolved itself into a committee of arrangements to which were added both the train crews.
A young balsam from the mountainside made its appearance, no one knew exactly how, and in a trice it shone with a wealth of candles and toys at which the baby, struggling up to a sitting posture74 in his cradle, looked with wide-eyed wonder. The Crogans' modest living-room was made festive75 with
[30]
holly and evergreen76 and transformed into a joyous77 dining-room before Mrs. Tom could edge in a word of protest. All the memories of her cherished Yule surged in upon her as the room filled with the smell of roast turkey and mince78 pie and what not of good cheer, borne in by a procession of white-clad waiters who formed a living chain between the dining-car and the station. When in the wake of them the veritable rocking-horse, hastily unpacked79, was led in by a hysterical80 darky, and pranced81 and pawed its way across the floor, its reins82 jingling83 with silver bells, Thomas Crogan, Junior, considered it, sitting bolt upright, one long minute, sighed and, overwhelmed by such magnificence, went calmly to sleep. It was too much for one Christmas Eve, and he not a year old.
When as many as could crowd in were seated with Tom Crogan and his wife—the conductors and engineers of the two trains representing the road—the clergyman in the party arose to remind them all that they were far from home and friends, keeping Christmas in the mountain wilderness84.
"But," he said, "though a continent separates us we meet with them all here to-night before the face of Him who came as a helpless Babe to the world of sin and selfishness, and brought peace and good-will to men." And he read to them how "It came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be
[31]
taxed," and the story of the Child that is old, yet will be ever new while the world stands.
In the reverent85 hush86 that had fallen upon the company a tenor87 voice rose clear and sweet in the old hymn88:
"It came upon the midnight clear
That glorious song of old."
When the lines were reached:
"Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurl'd,"
many of the passengers joined in and sang the verse to the end. The familiar words seemed to come with a comforting message to every one in the little cabin.
In the excitement they had all forgotten the weather. Unseen by every one the moon had come out and shone clear in an almost cloudless sky. The storm was over. A joyful89 toot of the rotary's whistle, as dinner neared its end, announced its return with the welcome news that the road was open once more.
With many hearty handshakes, and wishes for happy years to come, the unexpected Christmas party broke up. But there was yet a small ceremony left. It was performed by a committee of three of the Overland passengers who had friends or kin3 on board the train Tom Crogan had saved.
[32]
They had quietly circulated among the rest, and now, with the conductor shouting "All aboard!" they put an envelope into Tom's hand, with the brief directions "for moving expenses," and jumped on their car as the engine blew its last warning whistle and the airbrakes wheezed90 their farewell.
Tom opened it and saw five crisp twenty-dollar bills tucked neatly91 inside.
The Limited pulled out on the stroke of midnight, with cheering passengers on every step and in every window. Tom and his wife stood upon the step of the little station and waved their handkerchiefs as long as the bull's-eye on the last car was in sight. When it was gone and they were left with the snowshed and the Special breathing sleepily on its siding she laid her head on his shoulder. A rush of repentant92 tears welled up and mingled93 with the happiness in her voice.
"Oh, Tom!" she said. "Did ye ever know the like of it? I am fair sorry to leave the old shed."
In the spring she had come with her husband from the little Minnesota town that was their home, full of hope and the joy of life. The mountains were beautiful then with wild flowers and the sweet smell of fragrant7 firs, and as she rocked her baby to sleep in their deep shadows she sang to him the songs her mother had crooned over her cradle in her tuneful Swedish tongue. Life then had seemed very fair, and the snowshed hardly a shadow across it. For to her life there were two sides: one that looked out upon the mountains and the trees and the wild things that stirred in God's beautiful world; the other the blind side that turned toward the
[18]
darkness man had made in his fight to conquer that world. Tom Crogan was a dispatcher at a signal station in the great snowsheds that stretched forty miles or more up the slopes of the Sierras, plunging8 the road to the Land of Sunshine into hour-long gloom just when the jagged "saw-tooth" peaks, that give the range its name, came into sight. Travelers knew them to their grief: a huge crawling thing of timber and stout9 planks—so it seemed as one caught fleeting10 glimpses of it in the brief escapes from its murky11 embrace—that followed the mountain up, hugging its side close as it rose farther and farther toward the summit. Hideous12 always, in winter buried often out of sight by the smashing avalanches13 Old Boreas hurled14 at the pigmy folk who dared challenge him in his own realm; but within the shelter of the snowsheds they laughed at his bluster15, secure from harm, for then it served its appointed purpose.
The Crogans' house fronted or backed—whichever way one chose to look at it—upon the shed. Tom's office, where the telegraph ticker was always talking of men and things in the desert sands to the east, or in the orange groves16 over the Divide, never saw the sunshine it told of. It burrowed17 in perpetual gloom. Nine times a day trains full of travelers, who peered curiously18 at the signalmen with their lanterns and at Tom as so many human moles19 burrowing20 in the mountain, came and went,
[19]
and took the world of men with them, yawning as they departed at the prospect21 of more miles of night. At odd intervals22 long freight trains lingered, awaiting orders, and lent a more human touch. For the engineer had time to swap23 yarns24 with Tom, and the brakemen looked in to chuck the baby under the chin and to predict, when their smudge faces frightened him, that he would grow up to be as fine a railroader as his father: his yell was as good as a whistle to "down brakes." Even a wandering hobo once in a while showed his face from behind the truck on which he was stealing a ride 'cross country, and grimaced25 at Mrs. Tom, safe in the belief that she would not give him away. And she didn't.
But now the winter had come with the heavy snows that seemed never to end. She could not venture out upon the mountain where the pines stood buried many feet deep. In truth there was no getting out. Her life side was banked up, as it were, to stay so till spring came again. As she sat watching the great white waste that sloped upward toward the lowering sky she counted the months: two, three, four—five, probably, or six, to wait. For this was Christmas, and the winter was but fairly under way. Five months! The winters were hard enough on the plains, but the loneliness of these mountains! What glad visiting and holiday-making were going on now in her old home among kindred and friends! There it was truly a season of
[20]
kindliness and good cheer; they had brought their old Norse Yule with them across the seas. She choked back a sob28 as she stirred the cradle with her foot. For Tom's sake she would be brave. But no letter nor word had come from the East, and this their first Christmas away from home!
There was a man's step on the stairs from the office, and Tom Crogan put his head through the doorway29.
"Got a bite for a hungry man?" he asked, blinking a bit at the white light from without.
The baby woke up and gurgled. Tom waved the towel at him, drying his face at the sink, and hugged his wife as she passed.
"Storm coming," he said, glancing out at the weather and listening to the soughing of the wind in the pines.
"Nothing else here," she replied, setting the table; "nothing this long while, and, oh, Tom!"—she set down the plate and went over to him—"no word from home, and this is Christmas Eve. Nothing even for the baby."
He patted her back affectionately, and cheered her after the manner of a man.
"Trains all late, the snow is that deep, more particular in the East, they say. Mail might not come through for a week. Baby don't know the difference so long as he is warm. And coal we've got a-plenty."
[21]
"Then it will be New Year's," she pursued her own thoughts drearily30. Tom was not a good comforter just then.
He ate like a tired man, in silence. "Special on the line," he said, as he stirred the sugar in his coffee. "When the road opens up she'll follow right on the Overland."
"Some o' your rich folks, most like, going for a holiday on the Coast," she commented without interest. Tom nodded. She gave the stove lid an impatient twist.
"Little they know," she said bitterly, "or care either, how we live up here in the sheds. They'd oughter take their turn at it a while. There's the Wrights with Jim laid up since he broke his leg at the time o' the wreck31, and can't seem to get no strength. And the Coulsons with their old mother in this grippin' cold, an' all the sickness they've had, an' he laid off, though he wasn't to blame, an' you know it, Tom. If it hadn't been for you what would 'a' come to the Overland runnin' straight for that wrecked32 freight with full head o' steam——"
Tom looked up good-humoredly and pushed back his plate.
"Why, Mary! what's come over you? I only done what I was there to do—and they took notice all right. Don't you remember the Company wrote and thanked me for bein' spry?"
"Thanked you!" contemptuously. "What good
[22]
is that? Here we be, an' like to stay till——You can come up if you want to."
The invitation was extended, ungraciously enough, to a knot of men clustered about the steps. They trooped in, a gang of snow-shovelers fresh from their fight with the big drifts, and stood about the stove, the cold breath of outdoors in their looks and voices. Their talk was of their work just finished. The road was clear, but for how long? And they flapped their frozen mittens33 toward the window through which the snow could be seen already beginning to fall in large, ominous34 flakes35. The Special was discussed with eager interest. No one knew who it was—an unusual thing. Generally words came along the line giving the news, but there had been no warning of this one.
"Mebbe it's the President inspectin'," ventured one of the crew.
"I tank it bane some o' dem Wall Street fellers on one big bust," threw in a husky Swede.
In the laugh that followed this sally the ticker was heard faintly clicking out a message in the office below.
Tom listened. "Overland three hours late," he said, and added with a glance outside as he made ready to go: "like as not they'll be later'n that; they won't keep Christmas on the Coast this while."
The snow-shovelers trailed out after Tom with many a fog-horn salute36 of Merry Christmas to his
[23]
wife and to the baby. The words, well meant, jarred harshly upon Mrs. Crogan.
Merry Christmas! It sounded in her ear almost like a taunt37. When they were gone she stood at the window, struggling with a sense of such bitter desolation as she had never known till then. The snow fell thick now, and was whirled across the hillside in fitful gusts38. In the gathering39 darkness trees and rocks were losing shape and color; nothing was left but the white cold, the thought of which chilled her to the marrow40. Through the blast the howl of a lone27 wolf came over the ridge41, and she remembered the story of Donner Lake, just beyond, and the party of immigrants who starved to death in the forties, shut in by such a winter as this. There were ugly tales on the mountain of things done there, which men told under their breath when the great storms thundered through the cañons and all were safe within. She had heard the crew of the rotary42 say that there was as much as ten feet of snow on some of the levels already, and the winter only well begun. Without knowing it she fell to counting the months to spring again: two, three, four, five! With a convulsive shudder43 she caught up the child and fled to the darkest corner of the room. Crouching44 there by the fire her grief and bitterness found vent26 in a flood of rebellious45 tears.
Down in his dark coop Tom Crogan, listening to a distant roar and the quickening rhythm of the
[24]
rails, knew that the Overland was coming. Presently it shot out from behind the shoulder of the mountain. Ordinarily it passed swiftly enough, but to-day it slowed up and came to a stop at the station. The conductor hurried into the office and held an anxious consultation46 with Tom, who shook his head decisively. If the storm kept up there would be no getting out that night. The cut over at the lake that had just been cleared was filling up again sure with the wind blowing from the north. There was nothing to do but wait, anyhow until they knew for certain. The conductor agreed with bad grace, and the rotary was started up the road to reconnoiter. The train discharged its weary and worried passengers, who walked up and down the dark cavern47 to stretch their legs, glancing indifferently at the little office where the telegraph kept up its intermittent48 chatter49.
Suddenly it clicked out a loud warning: "Special on way. Clear the track."
Tom rapped on his window and gave quick orders. The men hurried to carry them out.
"Not far she'll go," they grinned as they set the switch and made all safe. At the turn half a mile below the red eye of the locomotive gleamed already in the dusk. In a few minutes it pulled in with a shriek50 of its whistle that woke the echoes of the hills far and near, and stood panting in a cloud of steam. Trackmen and signalmen craned their necks
[25]
to see the mysterious stranger. Even Mrs. Tom had dried her tears and came out to look at the despised bigbugs from the East, rebellion yet in her homesick heart.
The news that the "Big Boss" might be on board had spread to the passenger train, and crowds flocked from the sleepers51, curious to get a glimpse of the railroad magnate who had made such a stir in the land. His power was so great that common talk credited him with being stronger than Congress and the courts combined. The newspapers recorded all his doings as it did the President's, but with this difference, that while everybody knew all about the Man in the White House, few if any seemed to know anything real about the railroad man's private life. In the popular estimation he was a veritable Sphinx. At his country home in the East he had bought up the land for five miles around—even the highways—to keep intruders out. Here now was an unexpected chance, and the travelers crowded up to get a look at him.
But they saw no luxurious52 private car with frock-coated officials and liveried servants. An every-day engine with three express cars in tow stood upon the track, and baggagemen in blue overalls53 yelled for hand-trucks, and hustled54 out boxes and crates56 consigned57 to "The agent at Shawnee." Yet it was not an every-day train nor an ordinary crew; for all of them, conductor, brakemen, engineer and fireman,
[26]
wore holly58 in their caps and broad grins on their faces. The locomotive flew two white flags with the words "Merry Christmas" in red letters, and across the cars a strip of canvas was strung their whole length, with the legend "The Christmas Train" in capitals a foot long. Even in the gloom of the snowshed it shone out, plain to read.
Tom in his office rubbed his eyes for another and better look when the conductor of the Special, pushing his way through the wondering crowds, flung open the door.
"Here's yer docyments," he said, slapping down a paper, "and the orders are that ye're to see they gets 'em."
Tom Crogan took up the paper as if dazed, and looked at the entries without in the least understanding what it all meant. He did not see the jam of railroad men and passengers who had crowded into the office on the heels of the conductor until they filled it to the doors. Neither did he notice that his wife had come with them and was standing59 beside him looking as mystified as he. Mechanically he read out the items in the way-bill, while the conductor checked them off with many a wink60 at the crowd. What nightmare was this? Had some delirious61 Santa Claus invaded the office of the union Pacific Railroad, and turned it into a toy shop and dry-goods bazar combined, with a shake of his reindeer62 bells? Or was it a huge,
[27]
wretched, misbegotten joke? Surely stranger bill of lading never went over the line, or over any railroad line before. This was what he read:
"Crate55 of fat turkeys, one for every family on the station (their names followed).
"One ditto of red apples.
"One ditto of oranges, to be similarly apportioned63.
"For Tom Crogan, one meerschaum pipe.
"For James Wright, lately injured in the service and not yet recovered, a box of books, and allowance of full pay during disability. Ordered to report at Sacramento until fully64 restored.
"For John Coulson, Christmas gifts, including a warm flannel65 wrapper for his old mother; also notice of back pay allowed since suspension, with full restoration to place and pay.
"For Mrs. Thomas Crogan, not on the official payroll66, but whom the Company takes this opportunity to thank for assistance rendered her husband on a recent occasion, one dress pattern, with the wishes of the Superintendent67's office for a very Merry Christmas.
"For Master Thomas Crogan, not yet on the official payroll, being under age, a box of toys, including rubber ball and sheep, doll and Noah's ark, with the compliments of the Company for having chosen so able a railroad man for his father.
"For Master Thomas Crogan, as a token of regard from passengers on the Overland of November 18, one rocking-horse, crated68."
"Oh, Tom!"—Mrs. Crogan caught her breath with a gasp—"and he not a year old!"
[28]
Tom looked up to find the room full of people laughing at him and at her, but there was hearty69, happy good-will in the laugh, and Mrs. Tom was laughing back.
The conductor got up to go, but checked himself abruptly70. "If I didn't come near to forget," he said and reached for his pocket. "Here, Tom, this is for you from the Superintendent. If it ain't a secret read it aloud."
The message was brief:
Thomas Crogan, Esq.,
Agent and Dispatcher at Shawnee Station:
The compliments of the season and of the Superintendent's office to you. Have a Merry Christmas, Tom, up in your shed, for we want you down on the Coast after New Year's.
Frank Alden,
Superintendent.
Tom looked up with a smile. He had got his bearings at last. There was no doubt about that signature. His eyes met his wife's, brimming with sudden joy. The dream of her life was made real.
The railroad men raised a cheer in which there was a note of regret, for Tom was a prime favorite with them all, and crowded up to shake hands. The passengers followed suit, ready to join in, yet mystified still. But now, when they heard from the conductor of the Special how Tom by quick action had saved the Overland, the very train they were
[29]
on, from running into a wrecked freight two months before, many of them remembered the story of it—how Tom, being left alone when everybody else lost his head in the smashup, had sprinted71 down the track with torpedoes72, while his wife set the switch and waved the signal lantern, and had just caught the Limited around the curve, and how narrow had been the escape from a great disaster. And their quick sympathy went out to the young couple up in the lonely heights, who a few moments before had been less to them than the inert73 thing of iron and steel that was panting on the track outside like a huge monster after a hard run.
When it was learned that both trains were stalled, perhaps for all night, the recollection that it was Christmas Eve gave sudden direction to their sympathies. Since friends on the Coast must wait they would have their Christmas where they were, if it were in a snowshed. In less time than any one could have made a formal motion the trainful of excited passengers, just now so disgruntled, resolved itself into a committee of arrangements to which were added both the train crews.
A young balsam from the mountainside made its appearance, no one knew exactly how, and in a trice it shone with a wealth of candles and toys at which the baby, struggling up to a sitting posture74 in his cradle, looked with wide-eyed wonder. The Crogans' modest living-room was made festive75 with
[30]
holly and evergreen76 and transformed into a joyous77 dining-room before Mrs. Tom could edge in a word of protest. All the memories of her cherished Yule surged in upon her as the room filled with the smell of roast turkey and mince78 pie and what not of good cheer, borne in by a procession of white-clad waiters who formed a living chain between the dining-car and the station. When in the wake of them the veritable rocking-horse, hastily unpacked79, was led in by a hysterical80 darky, and pranced81 and pawed its way across the floor, its reins82 jingling83 with silver bells, Thomas Crogan, Junior, considered it, sitting bolt upright, one long minute, sighed and, overwhelmed by such magnificence, went calmly to sleep. It was too much for one Christmas Eve, and he not a year old.
When as many as could crowd in were seated with Tom Crogan and his wife—the conductors and engineers of the two trains representing the road—the clergyman in the party arose to remind them all that they were far from home and friends, keeping Christmas in the mountain wilderness84.
"But," he said, "though a continent separates us we meet with them all here to-night before the face of Him who came as a helpless Babe to the world of sin and selfishness, and brought peace and good-will to men." And he read to them how "It came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be
[31]
taxed," and the story of the Child that is old, yet will be ever new while the world stands.
In the reverent85 hush86 that had fallen upon the company a tenor87 voice rose clear and sweet in the old hymn88:
"It came upon the midnight clear
That glorious song of old."
When the lines were reached:
"Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurl'd,"
many of the passengers joined in and sang the verse to the end. The familiar words seemed to come with a comforting message to every one in the little cabin.
In the excitement they had all forgotten the weather. Unseen by every one the moon had come out and shone clear in an almost cloudless sky. The storm was over. A joyful89 toot of the rotary's whistle, as dinner neared its end, announced its return with the welcome news that the road was open once more.
With many hearty handshakes, and wishes for happy years to come, the unexpected Christmas party broke up. But there was yet a small ceremony left. It was performed by a committee of three of the Overland passengers who had friends or kin3 on board the train Tom Crogan had saved.
[32]
They had quietly circulated among the rest, and now, with the conductor shouting "All aboard!" they put an envelope into Tom's hand, with the brief directions "for moving expenses," and jumped on their car as the engine blew its last warning whistle and the airbrakes wheezed90 their farewell.
Tom opened it and saw five crisp twenty-dollar bills tucked neatly91 inside.
The Limited pulled out on the stroke of midnight, with cheering passengers on every step and in every window. Tom and his wife stood upon the step of the little station and waved their handkerchiefs as long as the bull's-eye on the last car was in sight. When it was gone and they were left with the snowshed and the Special breathing sleepily on its siding she laid her head on his shoulder. A rush of repentant92 tears welled up and mingled93 with the happiness in her voice.
"Oh, Tom!" she said. "Did ye ever know the like of it? I am fair sorry to leave the old shed."
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收听单词发音
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1
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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supplanted
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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4
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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5
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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6
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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7
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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8
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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10
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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11
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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12
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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13
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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14
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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15
bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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16
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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17
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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18
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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19
moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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20
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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21
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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22
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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23
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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24
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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25
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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27
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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28
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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29
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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30
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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31
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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32
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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33
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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34
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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35
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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36
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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37
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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38
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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39
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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40
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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41
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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42
rotary
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| adj.(运动等)旋转的；轮转的；转动的 | |
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43
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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44
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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45
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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46
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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47
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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48
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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49
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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50
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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51
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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52
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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53
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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54
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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55
crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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56
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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57
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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58
holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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59
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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60
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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61
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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62
reindeer
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| n.驯鹿 | |
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63
apportioned
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| vt.分摊，分配（apportion的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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64
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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65
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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66
payroll
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| n.工资表，在职人员名单，工薪总额 | |
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67
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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68
crated
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| 把…装入箱中( crate的过去式 ) | |
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69
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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70
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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71
sprinted
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
torpedoes
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| 鱼雷( torpedo的名词复数 )； 油井爆破筒； 刺客； 掼炮 | |
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73
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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74
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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75
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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76
evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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77
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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78
mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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79
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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80
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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81
pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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83
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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84
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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85
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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86
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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87
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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88
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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89
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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90
wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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92
repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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93
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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