My friend leaped into the cab, and I let on the steam. He told me he was spending a few days with his aunt at the Springs, and that he was looking for something to do. He was an active, industrious, quick-witted fellow, who never needed to be told twice how to do the same thing. Though he knew nothing about an engine, he had the ability to learn, and it immediately occurred to me that he would make a first-rate fireman, for it was evident that Lewis Holgate and myself could not much longer stand together on the same foot-board. “This is bully--isn’t it, Wolf?” said Tom, as the engine attained her highest speed, though, as there were now occasional curves, I was obliged to ease her a little at times. “Do you like it?” I inquired. “First rate. It is almost as good as the Grace--not quite,” replied he, with proper enthusiasm. “Is this the Lightning Express folks talk so much about?” “This is the Lightning Express. We have come through in a hurry this time. Five minutes’ delay would ruin the Lake Shore Railroad, and cause more crowing over at Centreport than ten thousand roosters could do in a year. But we are on time.” “I’m glad you are,” laughed Tom. “I expect the train will always be on time while you run it.” “If nothing happens, I shall put my passengers down in Ucayga at the time promised.” “I hope nothing will happen, then.” But at that very instant, before he had finished the remark, I saw, as we shot round a curve, a little child at play between the two rails. A woman was running towards it in frantic haste. My blood froze with horror. At first I felt like fainting; but I closed the valve and whistled to put on the brakes. “Jam down that brake, Lewis!” I gasped to the fireman, indicating the one on the tender. Tom Walton did not say anything, but passing through the window in the cab, he made his way to the cow-catcher. I grasped the reversing levers, and I think all the passengers must have been thrown off their seats when I checked the train. But it was still doubtful whether I could stop in season to save the child, and my heart was in my mouth. CHAPTER XXI. MAKING UP TIME. It seemed to me, if the locomotive ran over that child, that I could not have the audacity to live another day, though it would not be my fault. It was so awful, so horrible, that I prayed to be saved from the catastrophe. I did not feel as though I could ever hold up my head again if that innocent little child was sacrificed. It would be better that the Lake Shore Railroad should be sunk at the bottom of the lake than that a single precious life should be lost.