“Why, father,” said Walter, in a low voice to Mr. Plympton, “that is the man that fixed the vane on the steeple!”
The man of the steeple had recognized them, and was now saying, “How d’ye do?” at the same time he advanced, and held out a broad, brown hand to the visiting party.
“You know Tom Walker?” asked the station–keeper.
“Guess I do,” replied Walter, readily gripping Tom Walker’s brown hand.
“I s’pose, Tom, you want to see me about your beat. Let me see. You are on watch from eight till twelve?”
“That’s it, Cap’n. All right, if you understand it. That is what I wanted.”
“Why, I was thinking I would like to go with Tom Walker, a while you know, just to see what it is like.”
“You can, if you wish and your father is willing. Tom would like ’mazin’ well to have company,” said the keeper.
“I’m willing, Walter,” said Mr. Plympton. “Only don’t be gone too long, as your Aunt Lydia would like, I guess, to have the house shut up before twelve. We will go over there now. Thank you, Jotham, for showing us round.”
“You’re welcome. I will expect your boy to–night. He’d better be here before eight.”
“I’ll give him a welcome,” added Tom. “I haven’t forgotten a kindness he did me.”
“I will be on hand,” declared the happy Walter.
Mr. Plympton and Walter turned away from the station, and took a narrow lane running from the beach up to Boardman Blake’s; and there the lane was promoted, and became a highway. As if to acknowledge that promotion, and wave the road a graceful, stately wish for success on its travels, a single elm had been planted where the way widened. The Blake home had been standing there about fifty years; having been built by Boardman Blake’s father. It was a two–story house; its green front door piercing the wall exactly in the middle. On one side of the front door was the parlor, open only on great occasions, like funerals, or “comp’ny.” Behind this was the kitchen. On the other side of the front door, the right, was the store; and in its rear, the sitting–room.
“I like to have things handy,” said Uncle Boardman to Walter’s father; “and I can jest slip from our sittin’–room to the store and ’tend to customers, and then slip back.”
It was in the sitting–room, that Uncle Boardman, Aunt Lydia, and the Plymptons were gathered before the large, open–mouthed fire–place. Supper had been spread at an early hour on the round dining–table in the kitchen, and the light had not wholly faded from the west, when the Blakes and their guests withdrew to the sitting–room. One could look from the fire on the hearth, to those flames the sun had kindled on a rival hearth, about the western hills; but the glow of the latter went out, leaving only ashy clouds behind; while Boardman’s fire continued to flare and crackle into the night.