d after the death of
the venerable grandparents the homestead on the shores of Lake Michigan
was for some years untenanted.

But therein were stored the old furniture and the old books and
pictures, all carefully guarded by one of Cranston's veteran sergeants,
who, disabled by wounds and infirmities, was glad to accept his
commander's offer to give to him and his a home and suitable pension in
return for scrupulous care of the old place. At long intervals the
master had come in on leave, and the neighbors always knew when to
expect him, for the snow-shovel or the lawn-mower, holly wreaths or
honeysuckles, seemed to pervade the premises, and old McGrath's neatest
uniform was hung out to sun and air on the back piazza. Mac was a
bibulous veteran at times, a circumstance of which place-hunters were
not slow to take advantage on those rare occasions of the owner's
home-coming, and many a time did the major receive confidential
intimation from the Sheehans, Morriseys, and Meiswinkles in service in
the neighborhood that McGrath was neglectful of his patron's premises
and over-given to the flowing bowl; but in Mrs. McGrath's stanch
protectorate, as in McGrath's own fidelity, Cranston had easy
confidence. Twenty years of close communion all over the frontier give
fair inkling as to one's characteristics, and Cranston had known Mac and
his helpmeet even longer. "Dhrink, yer honor? Faith an' I do, as
regularly as iver I drunk the captain's health and prosperity in the
ould regiment; and I'd perhaps be doin' it too often, out of excessive
ghratitude, but for Molly yonder. She convinces me wid me own crutch,
sorr." And Molly confirmed the statement: "I let him have no more than
is good for him, major, barrin' Patrick's Day and the First of April,
that's Five Forks,--when he always dhrinks as many fingers at a time.
Then he's in arrest till Appomattox, nine days close,--and then I let
him out for a bit again. Never fear, major, I'm the dishbursin' officer
of the family, an' the grocer has his orders." Mac had his other
anniversaries, be it understood, on all of which occasions he repaired
to Donnelly's Shades on a famous thoroughfare two blocks west of the
Cranstons' back gate, and entertained all comers with tales of dragoon
days that began in the 50's and spread all over the century. Shrewd
historians of the neighborhood made it a point to look up the dates of
Brandy Station and Beverly Ford, of Aldie, Winchester, and Waynesboro',