noon
But just now there does n't seem to be anything to touch a fellow 's own country -- and that team of old sloggers there is just a bit of it . Is n't it , old Nor ? '' She nodded up at him ; there was no need of words . The morning was drawing towards noon when they came in sight of their own little station : Cunjee , looking just as they had left it years ago , its corrugated iron roofs gleaming in the sunlight , its one street green with feathery pepper trees along each side . The train pulled up , and they all tumbled out hastily ; presumably the express wasted no more time upon Cunjee than in days gone by , when it was necessary to hustle out of the carriage , and to race along to the van , lest the whistle should sound and your trunks be whisked away somewhere down the line . There were many people on the platform , and , wonderful to relate , a band was playing -- Home Sweet Home ; a little band , some of its musicians still in the aprons in which they had rushed from their shop duties ; with instruments few and poor , and with not much training , so that the cornet was apt to be half a bar ahead of the euphonium . The Lintons had heard many bands since they had been away , and some had played before the King himself ; but no music had ever gripped at their heartstrings like the music of the little backblocks band that stood on the gravelled platform of Cunjee and played to welcome them home .