“It’s his kid,” said the engineer, hoarsely. “He lives up yonder,” and he nodded toward a little house perched on the hillside that sloped down to the track. “That’s th’ reason th’ kid was down here—he come down t’ see his daddy!” The section-men came pouring forward to find out what was the matter, and surrounded the baby as soon as they heard the story, petting him, passing him around from hand to hand—until, suddenly, the mother, who had just missed him, came flying down the hill and snatched him to her breast. “Pile back in, boys,” called the conductor, cutting short the scene. “We can’t stay here all day. We’ve got t’ make Stewart in eighteen minutes.” They hurried back to their places, the engineer, stopping only to give his fireman a hearty grip of the hand, opened the throttle. This time they were off with a jump—lost time had to be made up, and in a moment they were singing along at a speed which seemed positively dangerous. The engine rocked back and forth, and seemed fairly to leap over the rails; the wind whistled around them; the fire roared and howled in the fire-box. Eighteen minutes later, they pulled in to the siding at Stewart, on time to the second. Allan had had enough of riding in the cab, and, thanking the engineer, and shaking hands with the fireman, he climbed down and took his seat again in the inspection-car. But he was very tired, and soon nodded off to sleep, and it was not until the train stopped and a sudden clamour of talk arose that he started fully awake. The men were handing in their reports to the superintendent, who, with the assistance of the train-master, was going over them rapidly to find out which section had received the most points. Zero was very bad; ten was perfection. There were no zeros on any of the seventy reports, however; and, let it be added, not many tens. The moments passed as the train-master set down in a column under each section the number of points it had received. Then he added up the columns, the superintendent looking over his shoulder. They compared the totals for a moment, and then, with a smile, the superintendent took from his pocket a check upon which the name only was lacking, and filled it in. Then he turned to the expectant men. “Gentlemen,” he began, “I think this company has cause to be congratulated on the condition of its road-bed. A vote of seven hundred, as you know, would mean perfection, and yet, not a single section has fallen below six hundred. The highest vote for any one section is 673, and that vote is given for Section Twenty-one, of which John Welsh is foreman. Mr. Welsh, will you please come forward and get your check?” and he fluttered the paper in the air above his head.