As he glanced out of the window, he could see a great crowd about the
station. A brass band was standing in front of the station-door--some
holiday excursion was on foot, he thought. As he stepped on the
platform, a great cheer was raised and a dozen men swept toward him,
friends, personal and political, but when they saw him pale, thin,
lean-faced, feverish, dull-eyed, the cheers stopped and two powerful
fellows took him by the arms and half carried him to the station-door,
where were waiting his mother--and little Phyllis.
When they came out again to the carriage, the band started "Johnny Comes
Marching Home Again," and Crittenden asked feebly: "What does all this mean?"
Phyllis laughed through her tears.
"That's for you."
Crittenden's brow wrinkled in a pathetic effort to collect his thoughts;
but he gave it up and looked at his mother with an unspoken question on
his lips. His mother smiled merely, and Crittenden wondered why; but
somehow he was not particularly curious--he was not particularly
concerned about anything. In fact, he was getting weaker, and the
excitement at the station was bringing on the fever again. Half the time
his eyes were closed, and when he opened them on the swiftly passing
autumn fields, his gaze was listless. Once he muttered several times, as
though he were out of his head; and when they drove into the yard, his
face was turning blue at the lips and his teeth began to chatter. Close
behind came the doctor's buggy.
Crittenden climbed out slowly and slowly mounted the stiles. On the top
step he sat down, looking at the old homestead and the barn and the
stubble wheat-fields beyond, and at the servants coming from the
quarters to welcome him, while his mother stood watching and fondly
humouring him.
"Uncle Ephraim," he said to a respectful old white-haired man, "where's
my buggy?"
"Right where you left it, suh."
"Well, hitch up--" Raincrow, he was about to say, and then he remembered
that Raincrow was dead. "Have you got anything to drive?"
"Yessuh; we got Mr. Basil's little mare."
"Hitch her up to my buggy, then, right away. I want you to drive me."
The old darky looked puzzled, but Mrs. Crittenden, still with the idea
of humouring him, nodded for him to obey, and the old man turned toward
the stable.
"Yessuh--right away, suh."
"Where's Basil, mother?"
Phyllis turned her face quickly.
"He'll be here soon," said his mother, with a smile.