Every now and then one of them would look down the
line and wonder why the cars were not in sight.
Amongst those seemingly the most impatient was Miss Ada Bell, who looked
but little older than when she won the heart of the orphan Clarence, years
before, by that kind kiss upon his childish brow. It was hers still--she
bound it to her by long years of affectionate care, almost equalling in its
sacrificing tenderness that which a mother would have bestowed upon her
only child. Clarence, her adopted son, had written to her, that he was
wretched, heart-sore, and ill, and longed to come to her, his almost
mother, for sympathy, advice, and comfort: so she, with yearning heart, was
there to meet him.
At last the faint scream of the steam-whistle was heard, and soon the
lumbering locomotive came puffing and snorting on its iron path, dashing on
as though it could never stop, and making the surrounding hills echo with
the unearthly scream of its startling whistle, and arousing to desperation
every dog in the quiet little town. At last it stopped, and stood giving
short and impatient snorts and hisses, whilst the passengers were
alighting.
Clarence stepped languidly out, and was soon in the embrace of Miss Ada.
"My dear boy, how thin and pale you look!" she exclaimed; "come, get into
the carriage; never mind your baggage, George will look after that; your
hands are hot--very hot, you must be feverish.
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