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Far
off
in
the
dim
moonlit
country
,
over
a
viaduct
and
down
a
valley
,
a
train
rushed
along
whistling
like
a
lost
metal
thing
,
nameless
and
running
.
Tom
went
to
bed
shivering
,
beside
his
brother
,
listening
to
that
train
whistle
,
and
thinking
of
a
cousin
who
lived
way
out
in
the
country
where
that
train
ran
now
;
a
cousin
who
died
of
pneumonia
late
at
night
years
and
years
ago
—
He
smelled
the
sweat
of
Doug
beside
him
.
It
was
magic
.
Tom
stopped
trembling
.
"
Only
two
things
I
know
for
sure
,
Doug
,
"
he
whispered
.
"
What
?
"
"
Nighttime
’
s
awful
dark
—
is
one
.
"
"
What
’
s
the
other
?
"
"
The
ravine
at
night
don
’
t
belong
in
Mr
.
Auffmann
’
s
Happiness
Machine
,
if
he
ever
builds
it
.
"
Douglas
considered
this
awhile
.
"
You
can
say
that
again
.
"
They
stopped
talking
.
Listening
,
suddenly
they
heard
footsteps
coming
down
the
street
,
under
the
trees
,
outside
the
house
now
,
on
the
sidewalk
.
From
her
bed
Mother
called
quietly
,
"
That
’
s
your
father
.
"
It
was
.
Late
at
night
on
the
bent
parch
Leo
Auffmann
wrote
a
list
he
could
not
see
in
the
dark
,
exclaiming
,
"
Ah
!
"
or
,
"
That
’
s
another
!
"
when
he
hit
upon
a
fine
component
.
Then
the
front
-
door
screen
made
a
moth
sound
,
tapping
.
