"Yes. Let us go to the Fort. You'll be wanting to see the b'y's grown up now. An' the old folk."
"You haven't grown much older;" looking his father over affectionately.
"Bedad! It's not much beyant three years, and does a man get bowed over, an' knock-kneed, an' half-blind, an' bald-headed, an' walk with a stick in that little time. Havers! Did you expect to see me bed-ridden!"
Bernard laughed. The same old contrarity that was not so much temper after all.
"I can't say the same of you, more's the pity. You've given the country, a pack of men who'll never give you a thankee, your good looks, an' your flesh, an' at least ten years. Ye're a middle-aged man, Bernard Carrick!"
Bernard laughed again. It was like old times, and, oh, how glad he was to be home again.
"Come, then; and, Dilly, run down an' see Norah, an' have a good time."
Sandy took his son's arm, and they went off together. Daffodil looked after them with long breaths that almost brought tears to her eyes. Grandad hadn't been glad when the news came; she could see just how he had turned with his nose in the air, and now he was claiming his son as if he had all the right.
Gran'mere was concocting some mystery on the kitchen table, Barbe sat at the little wheel, spinning. And she was singing, too. A faint pink had come back to her cheek, and her eyes almost laughed with delight.
"What's a' the steer, kimmer.