iece of woods that the road passed through he put up
his hands to his face, and broke into sobs. She allowed him to weep on,
though she kept saying, "Geo'ge, Geo'ge," softly, and stroking his knee
with the hand next him. When his sobbing stopped, she said, "I guess
they've had a pleasant visit; but I'm glad we'a together again." He took
up her hand and kissed the back of it, and then clutched it hard, but
did not speak. "It's strange," she went on, "how I used to be home-sick
for father and motha"--she had sometimes lost her Yankee accent in her
association with his people, and spoke with their Western burr, but she
found it in moments of deeper feeling--"when I was there in Europe, and
now I'm glad to have them go. I don't want anybody to be between us; and
I want to go back to just the way we we'e befo'e they came. It's been
a strain on you, and now you must throw it all off and rest, and get up
your strength. One thing, I could see that fatha noticed the gain you
had made since he saw you in New Yo'k. He spoke about it to me the fust
thing, and he feels just the way I do about it. He don't want you to
hurry and get well, but take it slowly, and not excite yourself. He
believes in your gleaner, and he knows all about machinery. He says the
patent makes it puffectly safe, and you can take your own time about
pushing it; it's su'a to go. And motha liked you. She's not one to talk
a great deal--she always leaves that to father and me--but she's got
deep feelings, and she just worshipped the baby! I neva saw her take a
child in her ahms before; but she seemed to want to hold the baby all
the time." She stopped, and then added, tenderly, "Now, I know what you
ah' thinking about, Geo'ge, and I don't want you to think about it any
more. If you do, I shall give up."

They had come to a bad piece of road where a Slough of thick mud forced
the wagon-way over the stumps of a turnout in the woods. "You had better
let me have the reins, Clementina," he said. He drove home over the
yellow leaves of the hickories and the crimson leaves of the maples,
that heavy with the morning dew, fell slanting through the still air;
and on the way he began to sing; his singing made her heart ache. His
father came out to put up the colt for him; and Hinkle would not have
his help.

He unhitched the colt himself, while his father trembled by with bent
knees; he clapped the colt on the haunch and started him through the
pasture-bars with a gay shou