They hung over the wall of the mill-race, dropped paper in the water on one side of the tunnel and watched it shoot out on the other.

They stood on the foot-bridge over Boathouse Station and looked at the metals gleaming coldly.
"You should see the Flying Scotsman come through at half-past six!" said Leonard, whose father was a signalman.

"Lad, but she doesn't half buzz!" and the little party looked up the lines one way, to London, and the other way, to Scotland, and they felt the touch of these two magical places.
In Ilkeston the colliers were waiting in gangs for the public-houses to open.

It was a town of idleness and lounging.

At Stanton Gate the iron foundry blazed.