THE COAL IS IN THE TENDER. JUST SHOVEL IT INTO THE FIREBOX

THE FIREBOX IS THE BOX WITH THE FIRE IN IT

“I figured that,” said Tom.

LESS TALKING, MORE SHOVELING

There were two short shovels and two pairs of work gloves hanging on pegs in the tender. They put on the gloves and shoveled chunky pieces of black coal into the firebox. It took only a few shovelfuls before the fire started to get hot and glowing again.

Job well done. It was surprisingly satisfying.

“So,” Kate said, “I guess it’s a talking train.”

“I guess so.”

Click-bing.

I GUESS SO

7

The Rail Yard

THE TRAIN CHUFFED ALONG; KATE THOUGHT IT chuffed a little faster and more vigorously now that they’d given it more coal. She’d never had a pet, because between them her parents were allergic to every single animal under the sun, but it felt like she imagined feeding a pet would feel. Except that it was a giant metal pet that you rode inside.

Snow drifted down through the trees outside, which was very odd considering that it was supposed to be summer, but not odder than anything else that was going on. The train kept talking to them. It explained how the throttle worked, and it showed them where the brakes were. Then it told them to look out the window.

Something was happening out there. The track they were on split into two tracks. Then it split again, and again, and those tracks split, too, so that in a minute one track had become dozens of tracks curving away on either side, and soon they were in a huge open clearing completely filled with darkly gleaming rails like a giant plate of steel spaghetti.

Kate and Tom carefully reduced the throttle and applied the brakes, and the Silver Arrow chuffed and chuffed slower and slower till it gave out a huge steamy sigh and stopped.

All around them on the tracks were parked dozens and dozens of train cars, maybe hundreds, all different colors and shapes. Some were short and stubby; others were long and lean. Some looked old and dusty and rusty, while others were shiny and new.

It was late, but Kate felt more awake than she ever had in her life.

“This must be the rail yard,” Kate said. “That thing the fox was talking about.”

“He reminded me of Foxy Jones,” Tom said. “What do you think we should do now?”

They looked at the paper where the train posted its messages, but it was blank and silent. Outside nothing moved. Lamps cast a soft, eerie light over everything and lit up the falling snow in a great white dome. Kate suddenly felt nervous being out in the middle of nowhere like this, with no adults around.

But then someone came walking briskly toward them across the snowy tracks. It was Uncle Herbert.