“Why, Boaz!”
“All aboard!” bawled out Emeline Hobbs; “all aboard for Boone an’ Blood Camp—all aboard!”
The wagon was made ready for the homeward trip. Once more Waffington led the little company out upon the Blowing Rock, and Gena Filson waved the silk flag as Waffington commanded:
“Three cheers for the glorious Fourth.”
The cheers went ringing out into space with a roar that all but awoke the aged grandfather from his long sleep on his green-mantled couch in the distance.
The sun was still an hour high when the party in high spirits returned to Blood Camp. At the store they rose up in the wagon, gave three last cheers for the glorious Fourth, and disbanded.
“Fust Foth of July I ever seed, an’ I wisht I may die, ef we aint agoin’ to have one next year again,” declared Boaz Honeycutt as he went off in the direction of his home, to tell his sisters and brothers of the pleasures of the day.
Paul Waffington led Gena Filson up the mountainside to her cabin home and was saying good-bye. He was going back to his city home on the morrow. He had experienced, after all he thought, the best day of his life. But at the thoughts of going away his heart grew heavy.
“But won’t you sit down, Mr. Waffington? It is early yet,” Gena Filson gently said. “We can sit here in the fresh evening air, here on these boards,” she finished.
“Thank you, I will sit down,” and seated himself by her side.