Results of the Accident.  
Years passed away—as years inevitably must—and many important changes took place in the circumstances and the management of the Grand National Trunk Railway, but the results of that terrible accident did not quickly pass away. As we have said, it cost Will Garvie an arm, and nearly cost Mrs Marrot her life. We have much pleasure, however, in recording, that it did not make the full charge in this matter. A small, a very small modicum of life was left in that estimable woman, and on the strength of that, with her wonted vigour of character and invincibility of purpose, she set to work to draw out, as it were, a new lease of life. She succeeded to admiration, so much so, in fact, that but for one or two scars on her countenance, no one could have known that she had come by an accident at all. Bob Marrot was wont to say of her, in after years, that, “if it had bin his mother who had lost an arm instead of Will Garvie, he was convinced that her firmness, amountin’ a’most to obstinacy, of purpose, would have enabled her to grow on a noo arm as good as the old ’un, if not better.” We need scarcely add that Bob was an irreverent scamp!
 
Poor Will Garvie! his was a sad loss, yet, strange to say, he rejoiced over it. “W’y, you see,” he used to say to Bob Marrot—Bob and he being great and confidential friends—“you see, Bob, if it hadn’t bin for that accident, I never would have bin laid up and brought so low—so very nigh to the grave—and I would never have know’d what it was to be nursed by your sister too; and so my eyes might have never bin opened to half her goodness an’ tenderness, d’ye see? No, Bob, I don’t grudge havin’ had my eyes opened by the loss of an arm; it was done cheap at the price. Of course I know Loo pretty well by this time, for a few years of married life is apt to clear a good deal of dust out of one’s eyes, but I do assure you, Bob, that I never could have know’d her properly but for that accident, which was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me; an’ then, don’t ’ee see, I’m just as able to work these there points with one arm as with two.”
 
To which Bob would reply,—“You’re a queer fish, Bill; howsever, every man’s got a right to his own opinions.”
 
Will Garvie was a pointsman now. On recovering from his prolonged illness, during which he had been supported out of the Provident Fund of the railway—to which he and all the other men on the line contributed—he was put to light work at first at the station of Clatterby. By degrees his strength returned, and he displayed so much intelligence, and such calmness of nerve and coolness of courage, that he was made a pointsman at the station, and had a sentry-box sort of erection, with windows all round it, apportioned to his daily use. There he was continually employed in shifting the points for the shunting of trains, none of which dared to move, despite their mighty power and impatience, until Will Garvie gave them leave.
 
To John Marrot, the accident although not severe at first, had proved more damaging in the long-run. No bones had been broken, or limbs lost, but John had received a shake so bad that he did not resume his duties with the same vigour as heretofore. He continued to stick to his post, however, for several years, and, before giving it up, had the pleasure of training his son Bob in the situation which Garvie had been obliged to resign. Bob’s heart you see, had been all along set on driving the Lightning; he therefore gladly left the “Works” when old enough,—and when the opportunity offered,—to fill the preliminary post of fireman.
 
During this period Edwin Gurwood rose to a responsible and sufficiently lucrative situation in the Clearing-House. At the same time he employed much of his leisure in cultivating the art of painting, of which he was passionately fond. At first he painted for pleasure, but he soon found, on exhibiting one or two of his works, that picture-dealers were willing to purchase from him. He therefore began to paint for profit, and succeeded so well that he began to save and lay by money, with a view to that wife with the nut-brown hair and the large lustrous eyes, who haunted his dreams by night and became his guiding-star by day.
 
Seeing him thus wholly immersed in the acquisition of money, and not knowing his motive, his faithful little friend Joe Tipps one day amazed, and half-offended him, by reminding him that he had a soul to be cared for as well as a body. The arrow was tenderly shot, and with a trembling hand, but Joe prayed that it might be sent home, and it was. From that date Edwin could not rest. He reviewed his life. He reflected that everything he possessed, or hoped for, came to him, or was to come, from God; yet as far as he could make out he saw no evidence of the existence of religion in himself save in the one fact that he went regularly to church on Sundays. He resolved to turn over a new leaf. Tried—and failed. He was perplexed, for he had tried honestly.
 
“Tipps,” he said, one day, “you are the only man I ever could make a confidant of. To say truth I’m not given to being very communicative as to personal matters at any time, but I must tell you that the remark you made about my soul the other day has stuck to me, and I have tried to lead a Christian life, but without much success.”
 
“Perhaps,” said Tipps, timidly, “it is because you have not yet become a Christian.”
 
“My dear fellow!” exclaimed Edwin, “is not leading a Christian life becoming a Christian?”
 
“Don’t you think,” said Tipps, in an apologetic tone, “that leading a Christian life is rather the result of having become a Christian? It seems to me that you have been taking the plan of putting yourself and your doings first, and our Saviour last.”
 
We need not prolong a conversation referring to t............