It was to be the Storybook Festival on the Skarloey Railway. People from near and far would come to admire the engines and hear the stories that had been written about them. All the little engines had received new coats of paint for the occasion, and were quite excited.
Rheneas gave Duncan a bump on accident as he was shunting his trucks into place.
“Mind the paint!” hissed Duncan. “I’ll no’ have it scratched before the Festival. Not that I expect anyone will notice if it is,” he huffed. “Every year they come to see the Little Old Engines, not poor Duncan, no sir. All the work I do, and none of the credit–”
Skarloey was sitting at the other platform watching them. He laughed. “Now, now. I don’t think The Thin Controller would be very happy if his favourite engine didn’t look his best,” he said, and he winked at Rheneas, like this.
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