6:10
You can wander in this happy , aimless fashion all about Green Valley , go in and out its deep-rooted old homes , stroll through its tree-guarded old streets , and at every turn taste romance and adventure , revel in beauty of some sort . Even the old , red-brick creamery , ugly in itself , is a thing of beauty when seen against a sunset sky . The people who pass you on the streets all smile and nod , stranger though you are . And if you happen to be at the little undistinguished depot just as the 6:10 pulls in , you will see pouring joyously out of it the Green Valley men , those who every day go to the great city to work and every night come thankfully back to their little home town to live . They hurry along in twos and threes , waving newspaper and hand greetings to the home folks and the store proprietors who stand in their doorways to watch them go by . There is a fragrant smell of supper in the air and a slight feel of coming rain . Here and there a mother calls a belated child .