“Near them stood an engineer with his arm in a sling. He had been returning to his post, as he had been off duty, when he threw himself forward to rescue a man who, having missed his footing on the step, would have been under the wheel of the car. As it was, his struggles loosened the footing of his deliverer, who succeeded in dragging him on the truck, from which precarious position they were rescued as soon as the train could be stopped. The engineer’s arm was badly broken, but the man whose life he had saved never came to thank him. “I have no money to give him, why should I go?” said he to the conductor, who told him to thank the man who had periled life and limb to save him.” “Men do not risk their lives for money,” replied the conductor, turning away from the ungrateful man. “The prospect looks rather dim,” said Aunt Clara, the first discouraging word she had spoken. “How calm and quiet she was,” said Norman, “when we were so frightened in the rail car.” The waiting-room of the station-house was not very comfortable for weary passengers; Norman established himself on three chairs, and was soon fast asleep on his hard bed; nor was he wakened when his mother slipped her carpet-bag under his head. A group near the door was more picturesque. It was a German family whom they had seen the day before at the cars, and who had passed all night at the station. One little girl lay across a bag, her head tending toward the floor. The younger brother was on his knees, resting his head on a chair, fast asleep; while near them, her head erect, as if watching over her goods and chattels, sat the elder sister, a quaint, prim-looking girl of thirteen, with a short waist, and a little shawl pinned round it, and a broad flat over her braids of light hair; while round her were bags, and boxes, and bundles, an incongruous heap, in which it was at first somewhat difficult to distinguish the sleeping children. The little boy at length, weary of his constrained position on his knees, had pillowed his head on his sleeping sister’s foot, which, by sundry twitches, and a few energetic kicks, freed itself from the encumbering weight. But still the children slept on. The mother was sitting outside of the door, silent, because none knew her language. At length a telegram announced that the cars would be there at five. The locomotive had been stopped because the rails were slippery. The early twilight brightened into day, the train arrived, the passengers stepped in, and a very short time brought Norman, his mother and aunt to their point of destination; a few houses had been dropped down on the prairie, as the nucleus of a town; not very promising as a resting-place. Soon, however, a buggy and a wagon drove up for the travelers, who, after a short drive, were welcomed by their relatives. CHAPTER XVII. THE PRAIRIES.