# Tom Beauling/Chapter 6

JUDGE TYLER and Tom Beauling stood hand in hand on the platform of the station at Mitford. It was a bright, blue day in the morning.
Presently, far up the track they saw a puff of white smoke, and after an interval came a hoarse whistle. Then there was a distant rumble that grew momentarily louder, and soon the local charged around a curve and came straight at them. Little Beauling looked up to see if the judge was afraid, but he was not. The local grew bigger and louder, the rails trembled, people with satchels came out of the waiting-room; the local began to slow up, the engine crawled by, the tender, the baggage-car, the smoker—then the whole thing stopped with a cough, went on an inch, and stopped, hissing. All got aboard and found seats. ​By the greatest good fortune, the judge and Tom Beauling got a seat all to themselves, and Beauling was so glad that the judge elected to sit by the aisle instead of by the window. Newspapers were unfolded, spectacles put on, and the train started—that is, the train stayed where it was and the landscape started. Infinitely interesting things went by the window. Those close to the track went by so rapidly that you could not study them; those far away went slowly, and afforded a good, long look. At one place there was a tree with a robin sitting on the tip-top. The tree didn't behave well to the robin, for without a word of warning it jerked itself out from under him and left him in the air. And, of course, the robin, to keep from falling, had to flap and flap. He couldn't have been a very well robin, for no matter how hard he flapped he just managed to stay in the same place. And, of course, as the place moved almost as fast as the rest of the landscape, he was soon out of sight, and little Beauling could never know how ​it all ended. Pretty to see was the blue water beyond the land. Interesting were the white-sailed ships that could not stand up straight. Fascinating the back yards, with little boys playing ball in them. But more pretty, interesting, and fascinating was the white-faced youth who went up and down the aisle with a basketful of candies, caramels, and books. What a beautiful, generous nature that youth had, in spite of his hard face! For, like Prince Bountiful, he gave everybody a box of candy or a book for nothing. Insisted on giving it to them; wouldn't take no for an answer. And—O baseness of human nature! O despicable performance on the part of Prince Bountiful!—for, sinking to the lowest of creations, an Indian-giver, he went sneaking about and took back all the presents he had given. And when nobody was looking! Nobody but Tom Beauling. He saw—and despised.
Whenever the landscape had a station it stopped, so that the people who didn't like that part of the landscape could get into the train and wait till a part they ​liked better came along, or that the people who did like that part could get out of the train and stay there. One man was so afraid that a station would go by before he could get on it, that he jumped out of the train while the landscape was still in motion and fell on his nose. And a woman was so curious about it that she dropped all her important bundles (presents for her children, Beauling conjectured) and ran to see what had happened to the man. But the man got up, and was very angry with the woman for looking at him. Just as the station moved off, Beauling saw the woman pick up the presents for her children that she had dropped. He was very curious about one. It was in a paper bag, and seemed to have melted, for it all ran out of the bottom of the bag—yellow and white. The woman dropped it, and the man drew back his foot to kick it. But at that the station disappeared, and the man and the woman, and Beauling never knew whether the man managed to kick the poor melted present or not.
He looked up at the judge, and found ​that the judge was looking down at him. He smiled at the judge. The judge hastily turned to his paper.
And now the landscape became fuller of houses, fields were fewer, trees misshapen. Some of the trees had boards hung about their necks. The boards were painted bright colors. Shadows darkened the train, roared, and went by. Soon a man shambled through the train and lighted the lamps. He wasn't tall enough to do it, really, but he had quite a long stick, which burned at one end. Then two roaring shadows came in quick succession—then sunlight. Beauling looked up at the judge, and found that the judge was looking down at him. He smiled reassuringly at the judge. The judge turned hastily away, and began to fold up his paper.
And now there came a shadow almost as big as night. And the people by open windows shut them, for fear the shadow would reach in and grab their hats. The shadow was long and black and roaring, but every so often he had a sun-colored ​band around him, and you could see that he was made of bricks. After a long time the shadow began to slow up, and presently there was sunlight again—a place full of engines, a noise of many people—then a cool, darkish house, with the front wall gone, closed over them, and they got out on a long sidewalk. It stretched away ever so far, and stopped when it came to a lot of people who leaned against a rope to keep from falling.
Then there was a walk through many streets, all of which looked familiar, and finally they came to a vast house of red bricks, which had a long flight of steps leading to a closed door with a funny little picket-gate in the middle of it. Over the door was a curved green board, with gold letters on it. Little Beauling looked up and up at the great face of the house. In one of the windows he saw the face of a child that looked out and out. In another window he saw the end of an iron bed, and one corner of a pillow.
It was hot and stuffy in the train, Judge Tyler thought. It had been cool ​and delicious in the village. The sun came at such an angle through the window that it was difficult to read the paper. He thought of his pleasant study, with its controllable lights. The trip was long and dusty. He had made it often before; nothing was new or interesting. He vowed he would never make it again. There were too many people in the streets. They hurried by in all directions, with white faces and nervous steps. The people at Mitford had color in their cheeks. He saw many little boys with faces as old and hard as the faces of men. He looked down at the rosy boy at his side. How soon the cheeks would pale, and the little face grow troubled! He thought of his own childhood, the daisies and the meadow through which the trout brook streamed, the shady woods, the gentle cows that gave him milk, the sounds of the birds in the morning. Judge Tyler looked up and up at the great face of the house. And at one of the windows he saw the face of a child that looked out and out.
​Tom Beauling looked up at the judge, and saw that the judge was looking down at him. How bright the eyes of the judge!
They went up the steps, hand in hand, very slowly, for little Beauling had to get both feet on a given step before he could negotiate the next. This he always did with his right foot.
Half way up the flight they stopped. The judge was reading the gold letters on the green board:
Orphan Asylum
Little Beauling felt the hand that was holding his own tighten. Then he felt himself snatched into the air by a strong arm, and he heard a hoarse voice crying, "Let's get out of this, Tom!" Judge Tyler, with little Beauling in his arms, ran down the steps of the orphan asylum like one fleeing from justice.
They had delicious things to eat off of a marble counter. You sat on a high ​chair that had only one leg, but wouldn't upset. The things to eat were under little glass domes with little glass knobs on top. There was a big silver thing that hissed like an engine, and gave out tea, coffee, or soup. All that you had to do was to point at what you wanted, and a lady gave it to you as quickly as she possibly could. One lady was not so busy as the others. She sat behind a desk, and took all the money that people gave her. But she seemed to like the judge better than the other people, because after he had wiped his lips with a napkin and given her a green money, she smiled pleasantly and gave him back eight green moneys and two silver moneys of different sizes and three little brown moneys. And she nodded pleasantly at Beauling, and said to the judge: "Your grandson?"
"My son," said the judge, in a gruff voice.