Part 9 (1/2)

Andy followed gladly. It was the course, the only course, of wisdom.

He ate ravenously, and drank a quart of rich milk. Ruth was busied in the room above, and when the meal was finished Andy joined her.

”Now,” she smiled, ”everything is ready.” He found a pail of hot water, and some of the minister's clothing lay on a chair. ”They'll have to do, Andy, until I can wash and dry yours,” said Ruth.

”What matters?” answered Andy. ”If I sleep I shall not mind the rest.”

”I know. You must only obey now, Andy. Remember I love to do my share!”

Tears stood in her brave eyes, and Andy understood.

Andy fell asleep almost at once. The hot bath took the pain from his sore body, the clean, worn linen was cool and soothing, and the droning of the bees in the near-by hives hushed sorrow and weariness into deep oblivion.

And while he dreamed of peaceful walks with the master under sunny skies, and smiled in the dreaming, Ruth had summoned Janie, and the mother sat waiting patiently the awakening. There was much to tell and more to do. But Andy dreamed on.

Four o'clock! The tall clock in the living-room spoke loudly. Andy stirred and muttered something, then slept again.

Five o'clock! The boy sat up on the narrow bed and stared into his mother's face.

Janie never flinched, though his pallor and the cut on his forehead made her heart ache.

”Mother, I must get to Was.h.i.+ngton at once. I--I have a message.”

”Yes, son.”

”I do not fear death. It comes but once!”

”Yes, Andy, lad. But I'm thinking you'll not be meeting death just now.

It looks like you were singled out to live and act for all my old misgivings. G.o.d forgive me.”

She bowed her head and it rested on Andy's shoulder. Stern Janie had never done such a thing before, and even at the moment Andy was touched and moved. He smoothed the hair away from the pale face, and gently, lovingly kissed his mother.

”There are strange happenings, Andy,” she sighed.

”There are, indeed,” he agreed.

”But things about which you know nothing, lad, and--and I must tell you before you go. Get up; dress, son. Ruth and I have made decent your own clothing. I can talk better while you move about. I cannot bear your eyes, my lad.” Andy arose at once and began his dressing, keeping his face turned from his mother, but her own was rigidly set toward the window.

”Your father has come back, Andy!”

A strange pause, then:

”My father!” Andy had dropped into a chair. The sentence had deprived him of strength to stand. He knew his mother never wasted words, or made rash statements. His father had come back! And Andy did not know that his father was alive. In fact, knew nothing of him, and that struck him for the first time with stunning force. Janie's back was straight and firm.

”Yes, your father. I kept it all from you. I meant to tell you some day, Andy, but time pa.s.sed and you asked no questions, and I--I thought everything was past and gone forever. But he has come back.”

”Where is he?” asked Andy.

”At home. He has been hurt, and is feverish and ill. He was doing sentinel duty for--for the British, and he received a terrible blow from some one in a cave. I cannot tell what is best to do, Andy, and I must look to you for help.”

Somehow Andy had gotten to his feet, and staggered across the little room to his mother. Almost roughly he seized her hand, while the awful truth unfolded itself from the dense darkness of the past.