He appeared, if
anything, tougher and scrawnier than before. "Everything's all right," he
said. "There ain't a sick animal on the whole farm."
As Roger sipped his coffee he was having a look at the horses. One of them
was William, his cob.
"Do you see it?" inquired his grandson.
"What?"
"The boil," George answered proudly, "on William's rump. There it is--on
the nigh side. Gee, but you ought to have seen it last week. It was a whale
of a boil," said George, "but we poulticed him, me and Dave did--and now
the swelling's nearly gone. You can ride him to-morrow if you like."
Luxuriously Roger lit a cigar and climbed to the front seat with George. Up
the steep and crooked road the stout horses tugged their way, and the wagon
creaked, and the Gale River, here only a brook, came gurgling, dashing to
meet them--down from the mountains, from the farm, from Roger's youth to
welcome him home. And the sun was flashing through the pines. As they drew
near the farmhouse through a grove of sugar maples, he heard shrill cries
of, "There they come!" And he glimpsed the flying figures of George's
brothers, Bob and Tad. George whipped up the horses, the wagon gained upon
the boys and reached the house but a few rods behind the little runners.
Edith was waiting by the door, fresh and smiling, blooming with health.
How well this suited her, Roger thought. Amid a gay chorus of greetings he
climbed down heavily out of the wagon, looked about him and drew a deep
breath.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144