"Has the weather been so remarkable as to make them think that?" asked
Alec.

"'Tain't the weather _made_ them think it. He only said the weather
weren't unlike as if it were coming true." As the first man said this,
he laughed, to explain that he had nothing to do with the tale or its
credence, but the very laugh betrayed more of a tendency to dislike the
idea than perfect indifference to it would have warranted.

In defiance of this laugh the Chellaston man made further explanation.
He said the religious folks said it was clearly written in the Book of
Daniel (he pronounced it Dannel); if you made the days it talks of
years, and the weeks seven years, the end must come about this time. At
first folks had calculated it would be 1843, but since then they had
found they were thirty years out somehow.

"That would make it this year," agreed the first man. Some others that
had gathered round laughed in chorus. They vented some bad language to;
but the Chellaston man, excited with his tale, went on.

"All the Advent folks believe that. They believe all the good folks will
be caught up in the air; and after that they're to come back, and the
world will be just like the Garden of Eden for a thousand years."

He was casting pearls before swine, for some of his hearers chanted
gibes. "Is that so?" they sang, to the notes of a response in Church
music.

Night had closed in black about them. All on the platform had come
together in close group. The wind-blown light of the station lamp was on