And yet what lives they were to
lead, what joys and revelations and disasters would be theirs, in the
strange remote world they would live in--"my flesh and blood that I never
shall know."
But the stars were quiet and serene. The meadows and the forests on the
broad sweep of the mountain side took on still brighter, warmer hues. And
there was no gloom in these long good-byes.
* * * * *
On a frosty night in September, he left the farm to go to the city. From
his seat in the small automobile Roger looked back at the pleasant old
house with its brightly lighted windows, and then he turned to George by
his side:
"We're in good shape for the winter, son."
But George did not get his full meaning.
At the little station, there were no other passengers. They walked the
platform for some time. Then the train with a scream came around the curve.
A quick grip on George's hand, and Roger climbed into the car. Inside, a
moment later, he looked out through the window. By a trainman with a
lantern, George stood watching, smiling up, and he waved his hand as the
train pulled out.
CHAPTER XXXIX
The next morning on his arrival in town, Roger went to his office. He had
little cause for uneasiness there, for twice in the summer he had come down
to keep an eye on the business, while John had taken brief vacations at a
seaside place nearby. The boy had no color now in his cheeks; as always,
they were a sallow gray with the skin drawn tight over high cheek bones;
his vigor was all in his eyes.
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