At intervals long and heavy goods trains go by, causing the solid earth to tremble.
Presently the sun rises over the distant hills, and the red arms of the signals stand out clearly defined, and then the noise of wheels, the shouts of the drivers, and the quick sound of hoofs betoken the approach of the milk carts with their freight for the early morning train.

From the platform it is out of sight; but a few yards from the gate a small inn is hidden under the tall elms of the hedgerow.

It has sprung up since the railway came, and is called the Railway Hotel.

It proffers good stabling, and even a fly and posting for the passenger who finds himself set down at that lonely place--a mere road--without the certainty of a friendly carriage meeting him.

The porter may, perhaps, be taking his glass within.
The inspector or stationmaster (whichever may be technically correct), now that the afternoon express has gone safely through, has strolled up the line to his garden, to see how his potatoes are getting on.