"Grandmother," said Jarvis very gently, "the great-grandson of the great
Henry Ware that you used to know was here last spring, and now the
great-grandson of his friend, Paul Cotter, has come, too."
The withered form straightened and she stood up. Fire came into the old,
old eyes that regarded Dick so intently.
"Aye," she said, "you speak the truth, grandson. It is Paul Cotter's
own face. A gentle man he was, but brave, and the greatest scholar.
I should have known that when Henry Ware's great-grandson came Paul
Cotter's, too, would come soon. I am proud for this house to have
sheltered you both."
She put both her hands on his shoulders, and stood up very straight,
her face close to his. She was a tall woman, above the average height
of man, and her eyes were on a level with Dick's.
"It is true," she said, "it is he over again. The eyes are his, and the
mouth and the nose are the same. This house is yours while you choose
to remain, and my grandchildren and my great-grandson will do for you
whatever you wish."
Dick noticed that her grammar and intonation were perfect. Many of the
Virginians and Marylanders who emigrated to Kentucky in that far-off
border time were people of cultivation and refinement.
After these words of welcome she turned from him, sat down in her chair
and gazed steadily into the coals. Everything about her seemed to float
away. Doubtless her thoughts ran on those dim early days, when the
Indians lurked in the canebrake and only the great borderers stood
between the settlers and sure death.
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