CHAPTER VIII AN OLD ENEMY Every night must end, although that one, as it seemed to Allan, was at least forty hours long. His greatest difficulty was to keep awake, for he had been working all day before he came on duty. More than once he caught himself nodding, until, at last, he dared not sit still in his chair, but went out upon the stretch of cindered path before the shanty and tramped up and down it, pausing now and then at the door to make sure his instrument was not calling him. The cool air of the night blew sleepiness from his eyes, at last, and he stood for a long time gazing out over the silent fields. Away in the distance a cock crew; others answered it, hailing the dawn; for the eastern sky began to show a tinge of gray. From every tree and coppice came sleepy twitterings, which, as the east grew brighter, burst into songs of joy to greet the rising sun. Birds never make the mistake that some boys and girls do, of rising with sour faces--"wrong end first." They know how much it adds to the day's happiness to start the day right; they are always glad when morning comes, and they never forget to utter a little song of praise and gratitude for another sunrise. Then they fly to the brook and take their bath, and hunt cheerfully for breakfast. Nor do they lose their tempers if they can't find some particular worm or bug of which they are especially fond. Truly, bird-ways are worth imitating. Allan sat down in the door of the shanty to watch the daily miracle which was enacting before him, but which most people have come to regard as a matter of course. It was the first sunrise he had seen for many months--in fact, since the days, seemingly years ago, when he had risen every night to take his trick at guarding the track from train-wreckers. Now, as he sat here, watching the brightening east, all the adventures of that time came vividly back to him, and he smiled to himself as he reviewed them one by one. He had made many firm friends--and one enemy, Dan Nolan, the vicious and vindictive scoundrel who had tried in so many ways to injure him; and had finally joined the gang of desperate tramps who had given the road so much trouble, and who, caught in the very act of trying to wreck the pay-car, had been sentenced to a term in the penitentiary. Allan had incurred Nolan's enmity the very first day of his service with the road. Nolan had been a member of Jack Welsh's section-gang, and had been discharged for drunkenness. He knew, however, that the place on the gang would be hard to fill, and expected to be taken back again. But that very day, Allan, who had walked all the way from Cincinnati in search of employment, came along, and Welsh, impressed by the boy's frank and honest face, had given him the place. Nolan had blustered, threatened, and even tried to kill him; and had ended by being sent to the State prison.