rian Church, and he was
always addressed as Elder, even by his wife and son. On the street he
was always Elder Craigmile. She heard the men enter the dining room
and the door close after them, but still she waited. The maid would
have to be told to put two more places at the table, but Hester did
not move. The Elder might attend to that. Presently she heard quick
steps returning and knew her son was coming. She went to meet him and
was clasped in his arms, close and hard.

"You were waiting for me here? Come, mother, come." He stroked her
smooth, dark hair, and put his cheek to hers. It was what she needed,
what her heart was breaking for. She could even let him go easier
after this. Sometimes her husband kissed her, but only when he went a
journey or when he returned, a grave kiss of farewell or greeting; but
in her son's clasp there was something of her own soul's pent-up
longing.

"You'll come down, mother? Rich came home with me."

"Yes, I heard his voice. I am glad he came."

"See here, mother! I know what you are doing. This won't do. Every one
who goes to war doesn't get killed or go to the bad. Look at that old
redcoat up in my room. He wasn't killed, or where would I be now? I'm
coming back, just as he did. We are born to fight, we Craigmiles, and
father feels it or he never would have given his consent."

Slowly they went down the long winding flight of stairs--a flight with
a smooth banister down which it had once been Peter Junior's delight
to slide when there was no one nigh to reprove. Now he went down with
his arm around his slender mother's waist, and now and then he kissed
her cheek like a lover.

The Elder looked up as they entered, with a slight wince of
disapproval, the only demonstration of reproof he ever gave his wife,
which changed instantly to as slight a smile, as he noticed the faint
color in her cheek, and a brighter light in her eyes than there was at
breakfast. He and Richard were both seated as they entered, but they
rose instantly, and the Elder placed her chair with all the manner of
his forefathers, a courtesy he never neglected.

Hester Craigmile forced herself to converse, and tried to smile as if
there were no impending gloom. It was here Mary Ballard's influence
was felt by them all. She had helped her friend more than she knew.

"I'm glad to see you, Richard; I was afraid I might not."

"Oh, no, Aunt Hester. I'd never leave without seeing you. I went into
the bank and th