There was the warning shriek from
the engine, and then the train crawled out, taking toll of all the
Amorians going north, and leaving the others to shout after them
endearing epithets and clinching witticisms.
For two days before the Amorians were on the wing home there had been
heavy falls of snow, culminating, on the going-away day, in a heavy
snow-storm. All the way from St. Amory's the express had been held up by
doubtful signals, and in the deeper cuttings the snow had piled up in
huge drifts. The express had toiled on its northern journey, steadily
losing time at every point. At Preston Acton had telegraphed home that
probably they would arrive quite three hours late. Thus it was that,
tired but jolly, the party of five Amorians got out of the main line
express at Lowbay, and, each laden with rugs and magazines, stumbled
light-heartedly across the snow-sodden platform into the local train,
which had waited for the express nearly three hours. They found
themselves sixteen miles from home, and with no prospect of reaching it
before midnight.
"Raven Crag," the name of Acton's home, was situated just within the
borders of Yorkshire. A single line of rails takes you from Lowbay
Junction up the Westmoreland hills to the top of the heaviest gradient
in the kingdom, and then hurtles you down into the little wayside
station of Lansdale, the station for "Raven Crag."
The sturdy tank engine coupled to the short local train was steaming
steadily and noisily, and when the express had rolled heavily out for
Carlisle, the station-master hastily beat up intending passengers for
the branch line.
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