Under the fructifying influence of such a golden shower of prosperity, land values began to rise again, slowly at first, as buyers distrusted the continuance of the golden shower; more rapidly a little later, as the Guilford policy defined itself in terms of apparent permanence.

Towns along the line—­hamlets long since fallen into the way-station rut of desuetude—­awoke with a start, bestirring themselves joyfully to meet the inspiriting conditions.  At Midland City, Stephen Hawk, the new right-of-way agent, ventured to ask municipal help to construct a ten-mile branch to Lavabee:  it was forthcoming promptly; and the mass meeting, at which the bond loan was anticipated by public subscription shouted itself hoarse in enthusiasm.

At Gaston, where Hawk asked for a donation of land whereon the company might build the long-promised division repair-shops, people fought with one another to be first among the donors.  And at Juniberg, where the company proposed to establish the first of a series of grain subtreasuries—­warehouses in which the farmers of the surrounding country could store their products and borrow money on them from the railroad company at the rate of three per cent, per annum—­at Juniberg enough money was subscribed to erect three such depots as the heaviest tributary crop could possibly fill.

It was while the pendulum of prosperity was in full swing that David Kent took a day off from sweating over his problem of ousting the receiver and ran down to Gaston.  Single-eyed as he was in the pursuit of justice, he was not unmindful of the six lots standing in his name in the Gaston suburb, and from all accounts the time was come to dispose of them.

He made the journey in daylight, with his eyes wide open and the mental pencil busy at work noting the changes upon which the State press had been dilating daily, but which he was now seeing for the first time.  They were incontestable—­and wonderful.  He admitted the fact without prejudice to a settled conviction that the sun-burst of prosperity was merely another brief period of bubble-blowing.  Towns whose streets had been grass-grown since the day when each in turn had surrendered its right to be called the terminus of the westward-building railroad, were springing into new life.  The song of the circular saw, the bee-boom of the planing-mill and the tapping of hammers were heard in the land, and the wayside hamlets were dotted with new roofs.  And Gaston——­

But Gaston deserved a separate paragraph in the mental note-book, and Kent accorded it, marveling still more.  It was as if the strenuous onrush of the climaxing Year Three had never been interrupted.  The material for the new company shops was arriving by trainloads, and an army of men was at work clearing the grounds.  On a siding near the station a huge grain elevator was rising.  In the streets the hustling activity of the “terminus” period was once more in full swing; and at the Mid-Continent Kent had some little difficulty in securing a room.