There were a great many crossing lines at the station; some of them
just ran into a yard and stopped short, as though they were tired of
business and meant to retire for good. Trucks stood on the rails
here, and on one side was a great heap of coal--not a loose heap,
such as you see in your coal cellar, but a sort of solid building of
coals with large square blocks of coal outside used just as though
they were bricks, and built up till the heap looked like the picture
of the Cities of the Plain in 'Bible Stories for Infants.' There
was a line of whitewash near the top of the coaly wall.

When presently the Porter lounged out of his room at the twice-
repeated tingling thrill of a gong over the station door, Peter
said, "How do you do?" in his best manner, and hastened to ask what
the white mark was on the coal for.

"To mark how much coal there be," said the Porter, "so as we'll know
if anyone nicks it. So don't you go off with none in your pockets,
young gentleman!"

This seemed, at the time but a merry jest, and Peter felt at once
that the Porter was a friendly sort with no nonsense about him. But
later the words came back to Peter with a new meaning.

Have you ever gone into a farmhouse kitchen on a baking day, and
seen the great crock of dough set by the fire to rise? If you have,
and if you were at that time still young enough to be interested in
everything you saw, you will remember that you found yourself quite
unable to resist the temptation to poke your finger into the soft
round of dough that curved inside the pan like a giant mushroom.
And you will remember that your finger made a dent in the dough, and