Needless to say it was the train, not the widow Hallett, that had
whistled. The depot master rose from his chair. A yellow dog, his
property, scrambled from beneath it, and rushing out of the door and
to the farther end of the platform, barked furiously. Cephas Baker, who
lives across the road from the depot, slouched down to his front gate.
His wife opened the door of her kitchen and stood there, her wet arms
wrapped in her apron. The five Baker children tore round the corner of
the house, over the back fence, and lined up, whooping joyously, on the
platform. A cloud of white smoke billowed above the clump of cedars at
the bend of the track. Then the locomotive rounded the curve and bore
down upon the station.

"Stand still, I tell you!" shouted Gabe, addressing the horse.

Dan'l Webster opened one eye, closed it and relapsed into slumber.

The train, a combination baggage car and smoker, two freight cars and
a passenger coach, rolled ponderously alongside the platform. From the
open door of the baggage car were tossed the mail sack and two express
packages. The conductor stepped from the passenger coach. Following
him came briskly a short, thickset man with a reddish-gray beard and
grayish-red hair.

"Goin' down to the village, Mister?" inquired Mr. Lumley. "Carriage
right here."

The stranger inspected the driver of the depot wagon, inspected him
deliberately from top to toe. Then he said: