| Author: | Barbara Baynton | ISBN: | 1230000140458 |
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing | Publication: | June 9, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Barbara Baynton |
| ISBN: | 1230000140458 |
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication: | June 9, 2013 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
A swirl of wet leaves from the night-hidden trees decorating the little
station beat against the closed doors of the carriages. The porter
hurried along holding his blear-eyed lantern to the different windows,
and calling the name of the township in language peculiar to porters.
There was only one ticket to collect.
Passengers from far up-country towns have importance from their rarity.
He turned his lantern full on this one, as he took her ticket. She
looked at him too, and listened to the sound of his voice, as he spoke
to the guard. Once she had known every hand at the station. The porter
knew everyone in the district. This traveller was a stranger to him.
If her letter had been received, someone would have been waiting with a
buggy. She passed through the station. She saw nothing but an ownerless
dog, huddled, wet and shivering, in a corner. More for sound she
turned to look up the straggling street of the township. Among the
sheoaks, bordering the river she knew so well, the wind made ghostly
music, unheeded by the sleeping town. There was no other sound, and she
turned to the dog with a feeling of kinship. But perhaps the porter had
a message! She went back to the platform. He was locking the office
door, but paused as though expecting her to speak.
A swirl of wet leaves from the night-hidden trees decorating the little
station beat against the closed doors of the carriages. The porter
hurried along holding his blear-eyed lantern to the different windows,
and calling the name of the township in language peculiar to porters.
There was only one ticket to collect.
Passengers from far up-country towns have importance from their rarity.
He turned his lantern full on this one, as he took her ticket. She
looked at him too, and listened to the sound of his voice, as he spoke
to the guard. Once she had known every hand at the station. The porter
knew everyone in the district. This traveller was a stranger to him.
If her letter had been received, someone would have been waiting with a
buggy. She passed through the station. She saw nothing but an ownerless
dog, huddled, wet and shivering, in a corner. More for sound she
turned to look up the straggling street of the township. Among the
sheoaks, bordering the river she knew so well, the wind made ghostly
music, unheeded by the sleeping town. There was no other sound, and she
turned to the dog with a feeling of kinship. But perhaps the porter had
a message! She went back to the platform. He was locking the office
door, but paused as though expecting her to speak.
