"Emma!" he said, sitting down on the sofa beside her, and seizing her hand in both of his.

"Mr Gurwood!" she exclaimed in some alarm.

Beginning, from the mere force of habit, some half-delirious reference to the weather, Edwin suddenly stopped, pa.s.sed his fingers wildly through his hair, and again said, with deep earnestness,--"Emma."

Emma looked down, blushed, and said nothing.

"Emma," he said again, "my good angel, my guiding-star--by night and by day--for years I have--"

At that moment Captain Lee entered the room.

Edwin leaped up and stood erect. Emma buried her face in the sofa cushions.

"Edwin--Mr Gurwood!" exclaimed Captain Lee.

This was the beginning of a conversation which terminated eventually in the transference of the nut-brown hair and l.u.s.trous eyes to the artist's villa in Clatterby. As there was a good garden round the villa, and the wife with nut-brown hair was uncommonly fond of flowers, Edwin looked out for a gardener. It was at this identical time that John Marrot resolved to resign his situation as engine-driver on the Grand National Trunk Railway. Edwin, knowing that he had imbibed a considerable amount of knowledge of gardening from Loo, at once offered to employ him as his gardener; John gladly closed with the offer, and thus it came about that he and his wife removed to the villa and left their old railway-ridden cottage in possession of Will and Loo--or, to be more correct, Mr and Mrs Garvie, and all the young Garvies.

But what of timid Mrs Tipps? The great accident did little for her beyond shaking her nervous system, and confirming her in the belief that railways were unutterably detestable; that she was not quite sure whether or not they were sinful; that, come what might, she never would enter one again; and that she felt convinced she had been born a hundred years too late, in which latter opinion most of her friends agreed with her, although they were glad, considering her loveable disposition, that the mistake had occurred. Netta did not take quite such an extreme view, and Joseph laughed at and quizzed them both, in an amiable sort of fashion, on their views.

Among all the sufferers by that accident few suffered so severely--with the exception: of course, of those who lost their lives--as the Grand National Trunk Railway itself. In the course of the trials that followed, it was clearly shown that the company had run the train much more with the view of gratifying the public than of enriching their coffers, from the fact that the utmost possible sum which they could hope to draw by it was 17 pounds, for which sum they had carried 600 pa.s.sengers upwards of twenty miles. The accident took place in consequence of circ.u.mstances over which the company had no control, and the results were--that twenty persons were killed and about two hundred wounded! that one hundred and sixty claims were made for compensation-- one hundred and forty of which, being deemed exorbitant or fraudulent, were defended in court; and that, eventually, the company had to pay from seventy to eighty thousand pounds! out of which the highest sum paid to one individual was 6750 pounds! The risks that are thus run by railway companies will be seen to be excessive, especially when it is considered that excursion trains afford but slight remuneration, while many of them convey enormous numbers of pa.s.sengers. On the occasion of the first excursion from Oxford to London, in 1851, fifty-two of the broad-gauge carriages of the Great Western were employed, and the excursionists numbered upwards of three thousand five hundred--a very town on wheels! Truly the risks of railway companies are great, and their punishments severe.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE LAST.

A certain Christmas-day approached. On the morning of the day preceding, Will Garvie--looking as broad and st.u.r.dy 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 pa.s.sed Will Garvie's box, out and in, during the twelve hours, but that day there had been nearly double the number of pa.s.sengers, 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 ab.u.t.ted 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 cuc.u.mber (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 pa.s.sed 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, la.s.s, 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 pa.s.senger-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 const.i.tute 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, st.u.r.dy, 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 a.s.sembled 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 n.o.ble, 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 Tomt.i.t, 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 bra.s.s band of the volunteers surpa.s.sed 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--

SONG OF THE ENGINE-DRIVER.

Oh--down by the river and close by the lake We skim like the swallow and cut though the brake; Over the mountain and round by the lea, Though the black tunnel and down to the sea.

Clatter and bang by the wild riven sh.o.r.e, We mingle our shriek with the ocean's roar.

We strain and we struggle, we rush and we fly-- We're a terrible pair, my steed and I.

_Chorus_--Whistle and puff the whole day round, Over the hills and underground.

Rattling fast and rattling free-- Oh! a life on the line is the life for me.

With our hearts a-blazing in every c.h.i.n.k, With coals for food and water to drink, We plunge up the mountain and traverse the moor, And startle the grouse in our daily tour.

We yell at the deer in their lonely glen, Shoot past the village and circle the Ben, We flash through the city on viaducts high, As straight as an arrow, my steed and I.

_Chorus_--Whistle and puff, etcetera.

The Norseman of old, when quaffing his mead, Delighted to boast of his "ocean steed;"

The British tar, in his foaming beer, Drinks to his ship as his mistress dear.

The war-horse good is the trooper's theme-- But what are all these to the horse of steam?

Such a riotous, rollicking roadster is he-- Oh!--the Iron Horse is the steed for me!

_Chorus_--Whistle and puff, etcetera.