ng my mind, I passed through this belt of recent
settlement and came at last into the valley of the James. One by one the
familiar flimsy little wooden towns were left behind (strung like beads
upon a string), and at last the elevator at Ordway appeared on the edge
of the horizon, a minute, wavering projection against the sky-line, and
half an hour later we entered the village, a sparse collection of
weather-beaten wooden houses, without shade of trees or grass of lawns,
a desolate, drab little town.

Father met me at the train, grayer of beard and hair, but looking hale
and cheerful, and his voice, his peculiar expressions swept away all my
city experience. In an instant I was back precisely where I had been
when I left the farm. He was Captain, I was a corporal in the rear
ranks.

And yet he was distinctly less harsh, less keen. He had mellowed. He had
gained in sentiment, in philosophy, that was evident, and as we rode
away toward the farm we fell into intimate, almost tender talk.

I was glad to note that he had lost nothing either in dignity or
manliness in my eyes. His speech though sometimes ungrammatical was
vigorous and precise and his stories gave evidence of his native
constructive skill. "Your mother is crazy to see you," he said, "but I
have only this one-seated buggy, and she couldn't come down to meet
you."

When nearly a mile away I saw her standing outside the door of the house
waiting for us, so eager that she could not remain seated, and as I
sprang from the carriage she came hurrying out to meet me, uttering a
curious little murmuring sound which touched me to the heart.

The changes in her shocked me, filled me with a sense of guilt.
Hesitation was in her speech. Her voice once so glowing and so jocund,
was tremulous, and her brown hair, once so abundant, was thin and gray.
I realized at once that in the three years of my absence she had topped
the high altitude of her life and was now descending swiftly toward
defenseless age, and in bitter sadness I entered the house to meet my
sister Jessie who was almost a stranger to me.

She had remained small and was quaintly stooped in neck and shoulders
but retained something of her childish charm. To her I was quite alien,
in no sense a brother. She was very reticent, but it did not take me
long to discover that in her quiet fashion she commanded the camp. For
all his military bluster, the old soldier was entirely subject to her.
She was never wilfu