“One minute gained.  If we can’t do better than that on our next run I’ll never touch the lever again.”

As Jockey knew, he was now on the most favorable section of the road.  No signals were to be expected for a long distance, and there was no reason why he should not regain a good part of the lost time.  If he didn’t he resolved it should be no fault of his.

As soon as he was fairly under way again, he “linked her up.”  That means he drew the reversing-rod back until the catch held it near the centre, so the steam, instead of being allowed to follow the length of the piston-rod, beat alternately the heads of the cylinders, giving the highest momentum acquired.

Rock understood his duty perfectly and was determined the Silver Swan should not hunger for fuel under his care.

“Mind how well the boy fires,” said Gilly, forgetting for a moment his pain.

“So he should; for wasn’t he Tommy Green’s pupil?  And Tommy was the best fireman ever on the Pen Yan, not even excepting you, Gilly.”

“I know it; but she is pulling for all she is worth now, Jockey.  You’ll get there on time, after all.”

The Silver Swan was behaving beautifully now.  Apparently she had gotten over her sulks.  Nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of their progress until the lights of Haford’s Run came into sight.

At this place they must stop to refill the engine’s boiler, and while Rock looked after this matter, Jockey carefully examined each part of the wonderful machine, talking to it and patting it as he would a child.

When he had run his practiced eye over the bars, joints, connecting-rods, cylinders and steam-chests, then around the pilot to the other side to find everything in fine working order, he came back to the cab-step and consulted his watch.

“Ten minutes gained,” he murmured, exultantly.  “If you hold out like this, old Swan, we’ll make Wood’s Hollow on time.”

“Good!  So you will, Jockey!” exclaimed the conductor, coming forward with his lantern.  “You have an excellent run ahead of you; do the best you can.  If we can gain ten minutes before getting to Trestle Foot, we’ll venture to Woodsville.  Are you ready?”

“All ready,” answered Rock, who had shut off the flow of water and flung back the dangling leather arm to spring from the tender to the footboard.

“Ho!” called out the conductor, “who’s firing to-night?” as Rock, jerking open the furnace door, stood in the glow of the fiery light.  “Where’s Gilly?”

“Here; but he’s sick,” answered Jockey.  “Rock took his place at the Big Y.”

“What!  Jack’s boy?  Well, he is good for it.  If Gilly is sick he had better come back into a passenger.”

But the old fireman wouldn’t think of deserting his post so far as that.

The next instant the conductor’s lantern waved back and forth, dense volumes of smoke rolled from the smoke-stack, and snorting as if with rage at being driven on again, the engine forged on along its iron pathway.