Dick loved his beautiful young mother devoutly, and her widowhood had
bound them all the more closely together.
"I've come a long distance, and I've come in many ways, mother," he
replied, "by train, by horseback, and I have even walked."
"You have come here on foot?"
"No, mother. I rode directly over your own smooth lawn on one of the
biggest horses you ever saw, and he's tied now between two of the pine
trees. Come, we must go in the house. It's too cold for you out here.
Do you know that the mercury is about ten degrees below zero."
"What a man you have grown! Why, you must be two inches taller than you
were, when you went away, and how sunburned and weather-beaten you are,
too! Oh, Dicky, this terrible, terrible war! Not a word from you in
months has got through to me!"
"Nor a word from you to me, mother, but I have not suffered so much
so far. I was at Bull Run, where we lost, and I was at Mill Spring,
where we won, but I was unhurt."
"Perhaps you have come back to stay," she said hopefully.
"No, mother, not to stay. I took a chance in coming by here to see you,
but I couldn't go on without a few minutes. Inside now, mother, your
hands are growing cold."
They went in at the door, and closed it behind them. But there was
another faithful soul on guard that night. In the dusky hail loomed a
gigantic black figure in a blue checked dress, blue turban on head.
"Marse Dick?" she said.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166