We prepared to cross it cautiously.
"Ho-o-oy! Stop!"
The brake was applied, and as we came to a standstill a party of men
and women descended the hill towards us.
"'Tis Susan Warne's seventh goin' to be christen'd, by the look of
it," said the engine-driver beside me; "an', by crum! we've got the
Kimbly."
The procession advanced. In the midst walked a stout woman, carrying a
baby in long clothes, and in front a man bearing in both hands a plate
covered with a white cloth. He stepped up beside the train, and,
almost before I had time to be astonished, a large yellow cake was
thrust into my hands. Engine-driver and stoker were also presented
with a cake apiece, and then the newly-married pair, who took and ate
with some shyness and giggling.
"Is it a boy or a girl?" asked the stoker, with his mouth full.
"A boy," the man answered; "and I count it good luck that you men of
modern ways should be the first we meet on our way to church. The
child 'll be a go-ahead if there's truth in omens."
"You're right, naybour. We're the speediest men in this part of the
universe, I d' believe.
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