I DO not know how long I crouched down, huddled together on the ground. It could not have been more than two or three minutes: yet it seemed like an hour to me. Though I stopped both ears, I fancied I heard shrieks: and all at once I could bear the suspense no longer. I felt that I must know the worst.

So I stood up without more ado, and walked back as fast as ever I could to the little gate—which was not very fast, for my legs were swaying under me. Though I had run the distance in almost no time, it seemed long as I came back, and I could hardly drag one foot after the other. I was hugging the red shawl tight in my arms still, though I did not know it.

There was no mistake about the cries which I had fancied I heard with my ears stopped. At least, that might have been fancy, yet the cries were real; and not only cries, but a buzz and rush of voices within the station, as if a crowd of people were talking and asking questions together. I saw that the train was at a standstill, and the hind carriages stood all right upon the rails, not seeming to be injured. That gave me hope that at all events the collision had not been a bad one. I could not see the engine or the foremost carriages yet.

I went straight down through our garden, and into the station from the back. On my way to the platform I took a peep into a little waiting-room, and what I saw stands out always like a picture before me when I think of that day.

Mother was there, quiet as usual, and she held in her hand a white handkerchief with red stains. On the floor, lying flat, was a young woman, dressed in black—rather young, that is to say, though not quite a girl, with shut eyes and a white face, and something red spotting her white lips. A young man stood close to mother, tall and dark-haired, and with such a troubled face!—and the surgeon of Claxton neighbourhood, Mr. Baitson, knelt on the other side of the young woman, stooping over her. I could not see what he was doing, and I did not wait to find out. I had a dread of the sight of blood, and I fled away at once to the platform.

The bustle and confusion there were more than I know how to describe. Everybody seemed to have leaped out of the train the moment it stopped, and everybody was talking. Some were asking questions, and some were angry, and two or three ladies were half fainting, and one was in a fit of shrieking hysterics, with a lot of folks round her. Perhaps she had been so taken by surprise that she could not control herself; but yet I think she need not have screamed so loud.

Nobody noticed me at first, and I stepped into the corner beside the big station-clock, where I stood, quaking still, and glad to lean against the wall.

The engine and truck had met before the train came to a standstill, for the truck was turned half over, twisted round, and thrown partly off the rails. The shock must have been sharp enough to do some damage, and yet it could not be called much of a collision, compared with what it might have been. Strange to say, neither the engine nor any of the carriages had left the rails; and nobody seemed to be much hurt except the one passenger in the waiting-room.

One very stout person near me had put himself into a tremendous rage. He stamped his foot, and was as red as fire; and he stormed at everybody all round in a perfect fury. "It was scandalous!—disgraceful!—atrocious!" he shouted. "Atrocious! disgraceful! scandalous!" He said those words over and over, till I never could hear them since without remembering him.

I was innocent enough to think that he must be some very important man, he made such a fuss. But I might have known better. I learnt later that he was a rich butcher from the next town, who had made his fortune and retired from business. There was a quiet little grey-haired gentleman, going about in the crowd, asking one and another in a soft voice who was hurt; and I never should have guessed him to be an Earl, but he was. The butcher did scolding enough for him and every one.

Then I saw Sir Richard Arthur, and our clergyman, Mr. Armstrong, and a stranger, all three talking with my father in a little group, near to me. Poor father looked terribly pale, as well he might, and Sir Richard was pale too. The stranger was a brother of Sir Richard's, I soon found, and was one of the Company's directors, travelling by that train. I heard him say to Mr. Armstrong—

"But who waved the signal which has saved our lives?"

"Nobody seems to know," was the answer.

Mr. Armstrong was an elderly man, with grey hair and a kind face. He had been Rector in Claxton for many years, and he was like a father to the whole village. As he spoke his eyes fell on me, shrinking into the shadow of the clock, and he said "Kitty!" in a surprised tone.

"Kitty!" my father echoed, and they all turned. I don't know how it was they guessed the truth at once, but somehow they did. Perhaps it was the red shawl, which I held so fast; perhaps that I was panting still with my run and the fright.

Mr. Armstrong put a hand on my arm, and drew me forward. Rupert told others afterwards that I had my eyes wide open, so as to seem twice their usual size, with a fixed stare like one terror-struck; and no colour was in my cheeks; and my hat had fallen off; and the red shawl was rolled up tight in my arms. I did not see Rupert, but he had that minute found me out.

Father pointed to the shawl, and said again— "Kitty!" He seemed as if he could not say anything else.

"Kitty, my dear, was it you who gave warning?" Mr. Armstrong asked in his fatherly way.

"I saw the truck—" I tried to answer; but my voice sounded queer, and the words would not come rightly. I could not think what was the matter, and I cried "Father!" in a fright.

Somebody handed Mr. Armstrong a glass of water, and he put it to my lips. That took away the parched feeling, and then Rupert came near, and mustered courage to say in his blunt fashion,— "Kitty did it. I saw her on the top of the embankment, running like a hare. I didn't know what for."

"Was it you, Kitty?" father asked.

"I saw the truck," I said; "and I had mother's shawl; and I ran to meet the express. There wasn't time for anything else."

"Brave girl!" "Splendid presence of mind!" I heard them say. Other people came, and the crowd round us grew, and there was a buzz of voices, asking and exclaiming and praising. Sir Richard shook hands with me, and his brother, the director, followed his example, saying, "No doubt many of us owe our lives to this little girl's promptitude." I don't suppose he took me for seventeen.

By that time I had colour enough, and I felt almost as if I could sink into the ground; yet I liked it all, and the words of praise set me into a glow of happiness; for it did seem grand to think that I, little Kitty Phrynne, should have been able to save lives.

Somebody spoke about "wretched mismanagement," and "arrant carelessness." And that of course was true enough, though it wasn't to do with us at Claxton, for the luggage train hadn't even stopped at our station. But father and the men had noticed the trucks put on behind the guard's van; and there was a lot of talk about this. I heard the word "illegal" over and over again from the gentlemen, and Mr. Arthur frowned, and said somebody would have to be called to account for that!—which indeed did happen, and more than one man was dismissed, though nobody to do with us.

Then there was some wondering why the truck hadn't been seen sooner, and I thought poor father was being blamed. I said, "O no!" and explained to them how we could see farther along the curve from the top of our garden than from anywhere else near. It was just that one chance glimpse, if one may use the word "chance" in such a manner, which gave me power to act. The truck was seen from the station almost directly after; and a telegram came from the next station, warning us that it had been missed. But all would have been too late if I had not had that glimpse.

After this more was said about me. Such a fuss was made, that it wouldn't be much wonder if my head was a little turned. Mr. Armstrong said to me in a low voice, "Kitty, this is something to thank God for!" But I am afraid I thought more about being praised by men than about thanking God. And yet there was nothing in what I did that deserved praise. If it hadn't been for that Heaven-sent thought about the red shawl—which I am quite sure was Heaven-sent, and not my own—the crash must have taken place.

Then mother came out of the waiting-room where she had been all this while. She did not seem flurried, but faced the crowd of gentlemen as quietly as she would have faced her own husband alone. Mother was not one to be easily upset.

It took her by surprise to find Sir Richard shaking hands with her and congratulating, and Mr. Arthur following his example again, and me looking red and bashful and happy, and a lot of people asking, "Is this her mother?" and pressing round with kind speeches about what they owed to me.

Mother stood still, looking from one to another with her sharp quiet eyes: not flurried, you know, but waiting to take in the meaning of things. When she began to understand, she said, "That's what the child was after, is it?" She made her courtesy to Sir Richard, for mother was never above courtesying, like some silly folks. She'd always pay honour where honour was due, and she was respectful to everybody: the consequence of which was that she always had proper honour and respect paid her again. So she courtesied, and said, "Thank you, sir," says she; "I'm very much obliged to you, and I'm glad Kitty had the sense to do her duty."

There was a sort of little fluster at this among the gentlemen. One or two smiled, but most of them only looked pleased, and the quiet little gentle-mannered man, whom I didn't know to be an Earl, came forward and said in a sort of approving kind of way, as if he was used to have his opinion thought of,—

"Quite right! quite right! she did her duty!"

"Yes, sir," mother answered. Then mother looked straight at the Earl, and seemed to know in a moment that he was something out of the common, for she dropped a deeper courtesy to him than to Sir Richard. Mother was always so wonderful knowing about people.

The Earl smiled at mother, as if he understood her a deal better than people generally did, and he held out a soft hand to grasp mother's, which was as clean as his, but not soft, because of the hard work it had to do. "A girl who will do her duty at such a moment speaks well for the mother who has trained her," says he. "What is the little girl's name?" I suppose he called me "little girl" because Mr. Arthur had done so. "Kitty—Kitty what? Kitty Phrynne! I should like to give Kitty Phrynne a remembrance of the day when she—did her duty!" The Earl stopped and smiled before the last three words. "If everybody did his duty always, the world would be a different world from what it is now," says he.

Then he took out of his pocket a gold watch, with a short gold chain hanging to it, and put both into my hand. "I hope you will always be brave and true, and will always do your duty," he said. "I want you to keep this as a little token of gratitude from Lord Leigh, and in remembrance of the day when your prompt action saved many lives."

It was quite a bit of a speech, and one gentleman called "Hear! hear!" and others clapped their hands. I don't know what I said or did, for I was all in a whirl. It isn't every girl of seventeen who has a gold watch and chain given her by a real Earl. Rupert says I made a courtesy like mother, and dropped my eyes in the prettiest way,—I mean he said so after. But Rupert was no judge, poor fellow, in those days, because he admired everything that I did.

I heard the buzz all round, which sounded as if everybody was pleased, and I know mother courtesied again and said, "I'm very much obliged to your Lordship," or something like that. Then she turned to me, and said in just exactly her usual tone:—

"There's hot water wanted presently, Kitty, and a bed in the parlour for somebody that's hurt. We're going to take her in and do for her. The spare bed, you know. Run home and get things ready."

"Quite a character!" I heard Mr. Arthur say very low, as if he was speaking to himself; and the Earl smiled again, and said, as if he didn't mind being heard— "That is the training which has saved our lives to-day."

When mother said a thing was to be done, I knew she meant it, sharp! So off I went, not waiting a moment, though I shouldn't have minded staying for a few more words of praise. I did just hear, as I passed, somebody say, "That's a charming little maid!" and Sir Richard replied, "My wife calls her 'our village beauty.'" So Mrs. Hammond had spoken truth; and if my head wasn't turned already it had a chance of being so then.

Before so many listeners I was too shy to ask mother what she meant about our taking somebody in; and indeed I felt pretty sure it must be the young woman in the waiting-room.

Our cottage wasn't very big. On the ground floor there was the parlour, which we did not commonly use, and the kitchen and scullery; and overhead there were father and mother's room, and my room, and a tiny slip of a room besides, with hardly any window and no fireplace, and only space for a bed and chair and washstand. We had a friend to sleep there once in a way, but it wouldn't have done for a sick person; and our crooked stairs were bad for carrying anybody up. Two years before, we had taken in father's mother for a time till she died; and, because she was infirm, the bed and things from this slip-room were put into the parlour for her use. I knew that was what mother meant me to do now; and I did not quite see how I was to get the bed down by myself.

However, I knew mother wished me to set to work at once, asking no questions. So I put the kettle on the kitchen fire to boil, and then ran upstairs. I stopped for one moment on the landing, to look at the beautiful watch that I still held, with its gold face and handsome chased back, and the solid gold chain hanging to it. I could hardly believe they were really mine, my very own. It seemed such a strange thing to have happened.

But there was no time to stand and think; so I put away the watch in a drawer, under my clothes, and ran to the little slip-room. The first thing was to carry down some of the bedding, and the wash-handstand set. I could manage those, and the wash-handstand itself, which was light. Then I took the pillows and blankets, and rolled down the thin top mattress, the other having to wait for help; and next I began taking the iron bed to pieces. I was used to all these things, only I never had been strong at lifting.

Presently I could hear Rupert's voice calling from below.

"Kitty!" says he, "your mother says you'll want help."

"I've got to get this bed down, and I can't do it all alone," I said.

"No, I should think not—a little thing like you!" he says, clumping up the stairs. "Yes, the bed has to go down. There's a Miss Russell badly hurt—been ill before, I believe—and the shock made her ill again. I don't know more; only they daren't move her more than need be; so your mother's offered to take her in here. Dear me, you've done a lot already!" And he stood still to look. "How ever came you to think of that shawl, Kitty?"

"Why, I had it in my arms," I said. "Come, you'd better be sharp, Rupert. How soon is Miss Russell to be here?"

"As soon as the room's ready. They're in a hurry, I can tell you. I couldn't get away sooner, for everybody was wanted to clear the line."

"Is it done now?" I asked, as he got up a great bundle of the iron pieces of the bed, and let them fall with a tremendous clatter. "Oh, Rupert!" I said, putting my hands to my ears.

"Couldn't help it," said he. "Yes, it's all done. Express off directly."

"And everybody going on?"

"Except those that meant to stay, and Miss Russell and her brother. Wish he was going too!" I heard Rupert mutter; and I asked—

"Is that the brother who was with her in the waiting-room—tall and nice-looking?" I'm afraid I said this to tease Rupert.

"That's the young puppy," he said gruffly; and he marched out of the room.

"Where is he going to sleep?" I asked, following Rupert with more pieces of the bed.

"Don't know and don't care! Not here!" said Rupert, still more gruffly.

When we got downstairs, he went up again, but he wouldn't let me go too. He said I was tired, and I had better stay where I was. In a few minutes he was putting the bedstead together in the corner I chose. Then he brought the mattress, and to save time, I let him help me make the bed, though he was clumsy enough at it. He looked glum too, and as if his mind wasn't on what he had to do.

"Nobody else hurt except Miss Russell?" I asked presently.

"Nothing to speak of, except the stoker, and he's able to go on. It's a wonder there wasn't a lot killed. Your father looks bad still. I say, you spoke up bold for him, Kitty!"

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked.

"I don't know. I didn't suppose it was in, you," says he. "And they liked you all the better for it too. I could see that."

Then he told me that the Earl was a relation to Lady Arthur—uncle, I think—and that Mr. Arthur was come to stop for a night or two at the big house. And then I told him he had better take word the room was ready.

In a few minutes I saw them coming; the poor thing laid on a shutter, which father and Rupert and one of the porters and her brother were carrying. They moved slowly, and mother came on first.

"Room all straight, Kitty?" says she.

"Yes, mother," I said. "What is the matter with her?"

"It's what they call 'haemorrhage,'" mother said. "Bleeding from inside, you know; and very bad. She had it once before, and the shock brought it on again."

"And nobody else hurt?" I said.

"She and her brother was in the front carriage, close to the engine," mother said. "And she was going backwards: so I suppose she came in for more of a jar."

"Is the bleeding over now, mother?"

"If it don't come on again! That's the fear! The doctor's afraid of the least movement. That's why I offered to have her in here."

Then I saw Mr. Baitson following with Mr. Armstrong; but I did not look at them much, for my eyes were soon chained to Miss Russell's face.

I had never seen any one like her before. It wasn't that she was pretty. I shouldn't wonder if she never had been exactly pretty; and she was past girlhood then, with a few grey hairs showing. But there was a wonderful quiet in the face, like the quiet of the sea on a still day; and when she opened her eyes they were full of gentle goodness.

"Hush, not a word!" Mr. Baitson said, when she wanted to speak.

She smiled and gave in directly; but her eyes wandered round till they fell on her brother.

He looked sorely troubled, and I think his sister noticed this, for she kept watching him as long as he was within sight. When they had laid her on the bed, only Mr. Baitson stayed, beside mother and me. He said she was to have her clothes slipped off her with the least possible movement, and he would call again by-and-by. Then I saw Miss Russell sign to him to go close, and she whispered, "Walter!"

"You want to see your brother? Well, just for a moment. But I can't have talking, you know," said Mr. Baitson.

The brother didn't so much as give a glance towards mother or me when he was called in. He went straight to the bed and bent down, and I heard a sort of choke, as if he was almost crying, and then a sound like a word which I couldn't make out.

"Forgive you, yes!" she said tenderly, and her hand went over his hair. "My own boy!"

"Hush! this won't do!" Mr. Baitson said almost sternly.

She gave him a look as much as to say, "I forgot!" and Mr. Baitson hurried the young man off.

Mother managed the undressing beautifully. I had to stay, and do as I was told; and all the time I was in a foolish fright lest the bleeding should begin again. Foolish and selfish too: for I was frightened chiefly, or at least partly, on my own account. But I didn't say anything, for mother would never tamely give in, either with herself or anybody else, to any sort of feelings or fancies which might hinder one from doing one's duty. She knew I was a bit of a coward naturally, and she often said she wouldn't have me grow up a silly useless woman, running away from people when they most needed me. I would have run away that day, if I had had my will; for I had a sick horror of the sight of blood. But I am sure I have been thankful enough in years since that mother made me fight the weakness, and not become a slave to it.

Well, the poor thing was settled at last, lying in one of mother's nice frilled night-dresses, her hands folded on the white counterpane, and her eyes shut. The brown hair with its grey streaks was in one loose plait,—she had a lot of hair, and after all there wasn't much grey in it,—and she looked younger than when I saw her first. I made up my mind that she couldn't at the most be much over thirty, and I wasn't wrong. But thirty sounded middle-aged to me at seventeen.

Mother was a first-rate nurse, though she never had a hospital-training. It seemed to come natural-like to her, as it does to some people; and she had had practice. So she made up her mind to do the nursing herself, at least for the first few days, till we saw what would be wanted.

That meant that I should have to do most of the cooking and the cleaning. I was not best pleased with the thought; for though mother had trained me to all sorts of work, yet I was used to having a good deal of time to myself. But here again I knew I should have to buckle-to, and not to think of my own fancies. Mother would not let me overdo myself, I might be sure, yet she wouldn't allow any laziness.

Presently she sent me to get the tea ready. It had been put off late through all that had happened; and she was sure father and I must want it.

When I got into the kitchen, I found father there talking to Miss Russell's brother, who looked miserable still; though for all that I couldn't help noticing how handsome he was, with his black hair and black eyes, and a sort of manner that was just the opposite of Rupert's rough ways, and almost like the manner of a gentleman. At least, I thought so then.

He and father were speaking softly, so as not to disturb the poor sick sister, and neither of them paid any attention to me coming in. Father had laid the table, and put the kettle on again to boil; so I made the tea without a word.

Then of a sudden father turned towards me, and says— "Mr. Russell will take tea with us, Kitty." And he said to Mr. Russell— "That's my brave little girl who gave the warning."

"I don't think I was brave, father," I said. "It only came into my head."

"It wouldn't have come into everybody's head, though," Mr. Russell said.

He had been as dismal as could be, up to that moment, in a sort of limp way, the corners of his mouth dropping, with a look as if nothing in the world could comfort him. But the dismalness began to go off with his first cup of tea. He sat upright, and I felt him looking at me, in the way strangers often did look: for those were my pretty days, and it's no use denying that I was an uncommonly pretty girl. Everybody said so, and I suppose everybody must have known. I was used to being admired, but still it made me blush.

Father was pale still, and I was glad to see him taking something. Then I went to ask mother if I should stay in her place a few minutes, though I was quaking inwardly at the idea, for I knew that the dreadful bleeding might come on again any moment. It was a braver thing of me, really, to offer to do this, than it had been to wave the red shawl, though of course nobody guessed it. But mother said she had promised the doctor not to leave Miss Russell until he came again: so I carried in some tea to her.

Mr. Russell would persist in helping me. I had to let him bring the tray across the passage to the door of the room, where his sister was.

I thought that uncommon pretty, and nice of him too. It seemed fine to be waited on by Mr. Russell, in the sort of way that I knew gentlemen waited on ladies in grand houses. I had seen it for myself at the big house, when I went there to help for a week, one of the housemaids being taken suddenly ill. The servants all made a pet of me, and the ladies too, and I was sent in and out of the drawing-room with messages.

I had seen the gentlemen picking up what the ladies dropped, and fetching what they wanted, and carrying what they had to take anywhere, and so on. Mother said it was always like that with real gentlemen.

But I didn't see, and I never do see, why things shouldn't be something like that too, in the homes of working-men. Because a man is a working-man, and wears rough clothes, that's no reason why he must be gruff and short. The Bible command, "Be courteous," is meant for everybody alike—not for gentlefolk only.

To be sure I've known many a working-man who wasn't exactly gruff or short, and who was always kind; and yet it would never come into their heads to do that sort of little polite thing, just because they were not trained to it, you know. I suppose they would have laughed at the idea outright; though I don't know why they should, except that Englishmen always laugh at what they are not used to.

I'm quite sure of one thing, and that is that the more gentle-mannered and attentive a man is to his women-folk, the more they'll slave their lives out for him. Scolding and gruff words don't bring but only a sullen sort of service; and there's too many a husband and father who seldom troubles himself to speak in his home at all, except in a grumble.

But then of course there's another side to the matter. If the husbands have got to be polite and gentle to their wives, the wives have got to be polite and gentle to their husbands. I have known wives who'd speak to their husbands in a tone like the screech of an engine-whistle. And that, to say the least of the matter, isn't pretty!

Well,—to come back to our tea that afternoon!

Unhappy as Mr. Russell was, he managed to eat plenty. He said he had never in his life tasted such bread as ours, and he praised our milk and our butter and the jam, as if he hadn't had food worth eating before. I thought it kind of him; though to be sure I never do hold with a lot of talking about the food we eat. It's right to be thankful for nice things, but there's plenty that's better worth talking about than eatables.

He told us next a few things about himself and his sister.

They had been orphans since his boyhood; and they had no near relations in the world. She was like a mother to him always. Till lately they had lived in Bristol; but at that time Mr. Russell was schoolmaster in a National School at Littleburgh, which was a small manufacturing town at no great distance from Claxton—an hour or so by rail. His sister took in dressmaking, for she was a capital worker, clever with her fingers. But she hadn't so much work yet at Littleburgh, where they were almost strangers, as in Bristol, where they had had many friends.

I thought it so good of her to leave all her friends, that she might make a home for him in a new place. When I said so, he said, "Ah, yes, just like Mary, poor dear!"

One or two things that he let drop made me fancy they or their parents must have known better times. At all events, I felt sure he was very superior and very clever. If not, how could he have been a schoolmaster? That gave me a sort of respect for him.

He said his sister had taken care he should have a good education, and he spoke so nicely and feelingly about repaying what he owed to her. A time would come, he said,—perhaps soon,—when she would not need to work, but would only depend upon him. I couldn't help thinking what a good brother he must be!