The sides of the car against which the stove
stood was protected with zinc; a number of short sticks of wood were
piled beside it, ready to replenish the fire, and some of them were
already smoking a little, as if in anticipation. Presently the brakeman
came in, with a flurry of cold air, his neck and head rolled up in a
dirty-brown knit woolen tippet, and clumsy gloves on his hands. He took
the poker, and opened the stove-door with it, peeped into the red-hot
interior a moment, grasped a solid chunk of wood from the pile, and
popped it in cleverly; then he stood for a moment, patting the stove
with his gloved hands, to warm them, till, in response to the whistle,
he dashed out, slamming the doors as only car-doors can be made to slam,
and Bressant could dimly distinguish him, through the frosted window,
working away at the brake.
They drew up, with much squeaking and grating, at a small,
snuff-colored, clap-boarded depot, where a boy, about sixteen, with a
big green carpet-bag, kissed an elderly lady in a black hood, who was
evidently his mother, and jumped aboard with his bag, in a great hurry,
lest she should behold the tears in his eyes. He entered the car in
which Bressant sat, and established himself and his bag on the seat
immediately in front of that upon which the former's feet were resting.
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