Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the Season
express rate, sometimes one line, and sometimes the other; and when he meets another train, there’s a whistle and shriek, and he’s gone.”

“That’s werry pretty,” I says. “I’d have that put in a book, if I was you;” and just then there was a bit of door banging, the second bell rang, the guard’s whistle chirrupped, and then with a scream we started, the steam puffing out of the funnel in round white balls, and slowly spreading overhead till it came faster, and hanging over us like a plume of white feathers, it streamed back over the train.

Such a night: thick as thick; and every now and then it was “bang, bang” as we went over the fog signals, and had to pull up and go very slowly, so that we were a good ten minutes going the first half-mile; and then past the first short station we went very slowly.

Thirty-five miles down was our first stoppage, where we took in water, and then another forty took us to Moreton, which was our next stoppage. By degrees we got on faster and faster, but the darkness was something terrible; while the signal lights at the short stations were almost useless, for I couldn’t see them till we were close up, so being already very late through its being Christmas-time I pushed her along, trusting to the line being all clear.

“Ah!” says Ben all at once, “we’re jest a-coming to the spot where poor Tom was cut up. Poor old chap,” he says; “and it was just here as he first saw that train running by his side.”

Now, of course, I knew well enough that it was all gammon; but Ben talked so serious that it give me quite a shiver, and as we came suddenly upon the lights of a station, and raced through, my heart gave a jump, for it almost seemed as if a train was aside us; and even after passing the station, I looked out, for there was the train lights reflected on the fog on each side; but directly after I laughed at myself.

“It was just about here as he must have gone down,” says Ben to me—shouting in my ear, for we were going fast; “and they do say as sometimes he mounts an engine and—Yah-h-h!” cried the poor fellow, falling down upon his hands and knees; while regularly took aback, I shrunk trembling up in the corner of the screen, and there stopped staring at a horrible looking figure, as seemed to start all at once into the light just as if he’d rose out of the coals. And then he came right up to me, for poor Ben had fainted.

As we were staring at one another I could see as the figure was buttoned up in an 
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