eyes filled, and he was wondering faintly if the desolating tide
of progress had topped the hills to pour over into the home valley
beyond, when his father accosted him. There was a little shock at the
sight of the grizzled hair and beard turned so much grayer; but the
welcoming was like a grateful draft of cool water in a parched
wilderness.

"Well, now then! How are ye, Buddy, boy? Great land o' Canaan! but
you've shot up and thickened out mightily in two years, son."

Tom was painfully conscious of his size. Also of the fact that he was
clumsily in his own way, particularly as to hands and feet. The
sectarian school dwelt lightly on athletics and such purely mundane
trivialities as physical fitness and the harmonious education of the
growing body and limbs.

"Yes; I'm so big it makes me right tired," he said gravely, and his
voice cracked provokingly in the middle of it. Then he asked about his
mother.

"She's tolerable--only tolerable, Buddy. She allows she don't have
enough to keep her doin' in the new--" Caleb pulled himself up abruptly
and changed the subject with a ponderous attempt at levity. "What-all
have you done with your trunk check, son? Now I'll bet a hen worth fifty
dollars ye've gone and lost it."

But Tom had not; and when the luggage was found there was another
innovation to buffet him. The old buggy with its high seat had vanished,
and in its room there was a modern surrey with a negro driver. Tom
looked askance at the new equipage.

"Can't we make out to walk, pappy?" he asked, dropping unconsciously
into the child-time phrase.

"Oh, yes; I reckon we could. You're not too young, and I'm not so
terr'ble old. But--get in, Buddy, get in; there'll be trampin' enough
for ye, all summer long."

The limestone pike was the same, and the creek was still rushing
noisily over the stones in its bed, as Tom remarked gratefully. But the
heaviest of the buffets came when the barrier hills were passed and the
surrey horses made no motion to turn in at the gate of the old
oak-shingled house beyond the iron-works.

"Hold on!" said Tom. "Doesn't the driver know where we live?"

The old-time, gentle smile wrinkled about the iron-master's eyes.

"That's the sup'rintendent's office and lab'ratory now, son. It was
getting to be tolerable noisy down here for your mammy, so nigh to the
plant. And we allowed to s'prise you. We've been buildin' us a new house
up on the knoll just this side o' Major Dabney's."