Storm

Muffled in wraps Gertrude stood at the front door waiting to leave the
car. It had been set in on the siding, and the engine, uncoupled, had
disappeared, but she could see shifting lights moving near. One, the
bright, green-hooded light, her eyes followed. She watched the furious
snow drive and sting hornet-like at its rays as it rose or swung or
circled from a long arm. Her straining eyes had watched its coming and
going every moment since he left her. When his figure vanished her
breath followed it, and when the green light flickered again her breath
returned.

The men were endeavoring to reset the switch for the main line contact.
Three lights were grouped close about the stand, and after the rod had
been thrown, Glover went down on his knee feeling for the points under
the snow with his hands before he could signal the engine back; one
thing he could not afford, a derail. She saw him rise again and saw,
dimly, both his arms spread upward and outward. She saw the tiny
lantern swing a cautious incantation, and presently, like a monster
apparition, called out of the storm the frosted outlines of the tender
loomed from the darkness. The engine was being brought to where this
dainty girl passenger could step with least exposure from her vestibule
to its cab gangway. With exquisite skill the unwieldy monster, forced
in spite of night and stress to do its master's bidding, was being
placed for its extraordinary guest.

Picking like a trained beast its backward steps, with cautious strength
the throbbing machine, storm-crusted and storm-beaten, hissing its
steady defiance at its enemy, halted, and Gertrude was lighted and
handed across the short path, passed up inside the canvas door by
Glover and helped to the fireman's box.