Sabbath Valley lay like a green jewel cupped in the hand of the

surrounding mountains with the morning sun serene upon it picking out

the clean smooth streets, the white houses with their green blinds, the

maples with their clear cut leaves, the cosy brick school house wide

winged and friendly, the vine clad stone church, and the little stone

bungalow with low spreading roof that was the parsonage. The word manse

had not yet reached the atmosphere. There were no affectations in

Sabbath Valley.

Billy Gaston, two miles away and a few degrees up the mountain side,

standing on the little station platform at Pleasant View, waiting for

the morning train looked down upon the beauty at his feet and felt its

loveliness blindly. A passing thrill of wonder and devotion fled

through his fourteen-year-old soul as he regarded it idly. Down there

was home and all his interests and loyalty. His eyes dwelt

affectionately on the pointing spire and bell tower. He loved those

bells, and the one who played them, and under their swelling tones had

been awakened new thoughts and lofty purposes. He knew they were lofty.

He was not yet altogether sure that they were his, but they were there

in his mind for him to think about, and there was a strange awesome

lure about their contemplation.

Down the platform was the new freight agent, a thickset, rubber-shod

individual with a projecting lower jaw and a lowering countenance. He

had lately arrived to assist the regular station agent, who lived in a

bit of a shack up the mountain and was a thin sallow creature with sad

eyes and no muscles. Pleasant View was absolutely what it stated, a

pleasant view and nothing else. The station was a well weathered box

that blended into the mountain side unnoticeably, and did not spoil the

view. The agent's cabin was hidden by the trees and did not count. But

Pleasant View was important as a station because it stood at the

intersection of two lines of thread like tracks that slipped among the

mountains in different directions; one winding among the trees and

about a clear mountain lake, carried guests for the summer to and fro,

and great quantities of baggage and freight from afar; the other

travelled through long tunnels to the world beyond and linked great

cities like jewels on a chain. There were heavy bales and boxes and

many trunks to be shifted and it was obvious that the sallow station

agent could not do it all. The heavy one had been sent to help him

through the rush season.

In five minutes more the train would come from around the mountain and

bring a swarm of ladies and children for the Hotel at the Lake. They

would have to be helped off with all their luggage, and on again to the

Lake train, which would back up two minutes later. This was Billy's

harvest time. He could sometimes make as much as fifty cents or even

seventy-five if he struck a generous party, just being generally

useful, carrying bags and marshalling babies. It was important that

Billy should earn something for it was Saturday and the biggest ball

game of the season came off at Monopoly that afternoon. Billy could

manage the getting there, it was only ten miles away, but money to

spend when he arrived was more than a necessity. Saturday was always a

good day at the station.




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