It is the duty of the conductor of every freight-train, as soon as he reaches a terminal, to mail to the superintendent of car service at headquarters, a report giving the initial and number of every car in his train, its contents, destination, and the hour of its departure from one terminal and arrival at another. These reports, as they come in from day to day, are entered in ledgers and enable the superintendent of car service to note the progress of every car, and to determine the per diem due its owner. These accounts are balanced every month. The books at headquarters are always, of necessity, at least three days behind, since the conductors' reports must come in from distant parts of the road; but reports so old as that are of small service in tracing a car, so it is the duty of the employees of the yardmaster's office to keep a daily record of the movement of cars, which shall be up-to-date and instantly available. Every train which enters the yards is met by a yard-clerk, book in hand, who makes a note of the number and name of every car as it passes him. The men who do this gain an amazing facility, and as the cars rush past, jot down numbers and initials as unconcernedly as though they had all the time in the world at their disposal. Allan had observed this more than once, and had often wondered how it was possible for a man to write down accurately the number of a car which had flashed past so rapidly that he himself was not able to distinguish it. There was a train coming in at the moment, and Allan paused to watch the accountant with his note-book; then he went on to the office to leave the two letters addressed to John Marney, the yardmaster, a genial Irishman with bronzed face and beard tinged with gray, who knew the yards and the intricacies of "making up" better than most people know the alphabet. Allan knew him well, for many an evening had he spent in the little shanty, where conductors and brakemen assembled, listening to tales of the road--tales grave and gay, of comedy and tragedy--yes, even of ghosts! If I stopped to tell a tenth of them, this book would never be. finished! "How are ye, Allan?" the yardmaster greeted him, as he opened the door. "So ye've got a new job?" "Yes, sir; official mail-carrier," and he handed him the letters. "Hum," grunted Marney; "this road never was over-liberal. You're beginnin' at th' bottom, fer sure!" "Just where I ought to begin! I've got to learn the ropes before I can begin to climb." "Well, it won't take ye long, my boy; I know that," said Marney, his eyes twinkling. "You'll soon begin t' climb, all right; they can't kape ye down!" "I fully expect to be superintendent some day," said Allan, laughing. "Of course ye will!" cried the other. "I don't doubt it--not fer a minute. Yes--an' I'll live t' see it! I'll be right here where I've allers been; an ye mustn't fergit old Jack Marney, me boy."