The carriage moves slowly away from the store.
“Good-bye Emeline, Fen, Daddy Slade, Aunt Mina and all,” called Gena. “Good-bye, Boaz, and remember, that you are to come to live with us in the city at Christmas. Good-bye.”
The human hearts of all Blood Camp again welled up with sadness and they found it hard to say “good-bye” in cheerful tones.
When the chestnut grove on the hill was reached, the carriage stopped. Uncle Lazarus stood at the wicket gate. Paul Waffington led the way through the gate and stopped before two well-kept mounds that lay side by side. He removed his hat and looked upon the mounds with reverence. Then taking a wreath from the hand of little C—— aged four, he placed it upon the mound to his right. A second wreath he took from the tender hands of little H——, aged two, and silently laid it upon the mound to his left.
“Whose graves are these, papa?” inquired little C——, aged four.
“They are the graves of your grandfather and your grandmother, my son,” he replied breaking the long silence.
He took the youngest child in his arms as he led the way over to a neglected corner of the grave-yard. Before a grave of large dimensions that showed much neglect they paused. The little family stood together and looked upon the mound a long time. Then the wife and mother went forward, plucked away some weeds and laid upon the mound the wreath she carried. Paul Waffington stooped and parted the weeds and glanced at the marble slab that bore the simple name:
JASON DILLENBURGER.
As the little company went out the black man put out his bony hand and said good-bye. He closed the wicket gate and the carriage moved away. The others at the store had looked upon the scene with aching hearts. For the seventh time Boaz Honeycutt sat in his rags on the store platform and saw the idol of his heart disappear over the hill. The muscles in his face twitched as he sat in his rags and strained his eyes at the last sight of the carriage. Then suddenly a lady’s hand was thrust out of the carriage waving a handkerchief. Again the boy’s face twitched with deep emotion, for he knew that the hand was the hand of Gena of the Appalachians.
(The End)