"Trains all late, the snow is that deep, more particular in the East, they say. Mail might not come through for a week. Baby don't know the difference so long as he is warm. And coal we've got a-plenty." "Then it will be New Year's," she pursued her own thoughts drearily. Tom was not a good comforter just then. He ate like a tired man, in silence. "Special on the line," he said, as he stirred the sugar in his coffee. "When the road opens up she'll follow right on the Overland." "Some o' your rich folks, most like, going for a holiday on the Coast," she commented without interest. Tom nodded. She gave the stove lid an impatient twist. "Little they know," she said bitterly, "or care either, how we live up here in the sheds. They'd oughter take their turn at it a while. There's the Wrights with Jim laid up since he broke his leg at the time o' the wreck, and can't seem to get no strength. And the Coulsons with their old mother in this grippin' cold, an' all the sickness they've had, an' he laid off, though he wasn't to blame, an' you know it, Tom. If it hadn't been for you what would 'a' come to the Overland runnin' straight for that wrecked freight with full head o' steam----" Tom looked up good-humoredly and pushed back his plate. "Why, Mary! what's come over you? I only done what I was there to do--and they took notice all right. Don't you remember the Company wrote and thanked me for bein' spry?" "Thanked you!" contemptuously. "What good is that? Here we be, an' like to stay till----You can come up if you want to." The invitation was extended, ungraciously enough, to a knot of men clustered about the steps. They trooped in, a gang of snow-shovelers fresh from their fight with the big drifts, and stood about the stove, the cold breath of outdoors in their looks and voices. Their talk was of their work just finished. The road was clear, but for how long? And they flapped their frozen mittens toward the window through which the snow could be seen already beginning to fall in large, ominous flakes. The Special was discussed with eager interest. No one knew who it was--an unusual thing. Generally words came along the line giving the news, but there had been no warning of this one. "Mebbe it's the President inspectin'," ventured one of the crew. "I tank it bane some o' dem Wall Street fellers on one big bust," threw in a husky Swede. In the laugh that followed this sally the ticker was heard faintly clicking out a message in the office below. Tom listened. "Overland three hours late," he said, and added with a glance outside as he made ready to go: "like as not they'll be later'n that; they won't keep Christmas on the Coast this while." The snow-shovelers trailed out after Tom with many a fog-horn salute of Merry Christmas to his wife and to the baby. The words, well meant, jarred harshly upon Mrs. Crogan.