"I shouldn't wonder if it was our captain coming from foreign parts," said a small member of the Fairport Guard. "He's took that ship as likely as not, and is coming home in her."
"Pshaw, child," burst from several listeners.
"I wish we did know where that boy is," said another speaker. "He's a credit to this place, that's certain."
"He's an honor to America," said Hal Hutchings, who was now allowed to give his views on all occasions. Hal's face was bent forward, and his eye was fixed on a slender lad who was anxiously looking towards the shore. "It's him, it's him; it's Blair, I tell you. It's him," shouted Hal, throwing his cap in the air, and giving three leaps that would have astounded a catamount.
Hal Hutchings fought his way to the privilege of being the first to grasp Blair's hand, as he stepped ashore; then there was a perfect rush of hands and a cheer from young and old that Derry Duck said was the pleasantest music that ever he heard.
"Where is she? Where's my mother, Hal?" said Blair as soon as he could speak.
"Hearty, hearty, and just like an angel as she always was," said Hal vociferously. The boy's joy seemed to have made him almost beside himself. "She don't know you're here, she don't. I'll be off to tell her."
"No, Hal, no. I'll be there in a minute myself," said Blair, moving off at a marvellous pace for a boy who had been wounded so lately.
The Fairport Guard fell into rank and followed their commander, while a motly crowd brought up the rear.
Blair stood on the familiar door-step. He laid his hand on the lock, and paused for a second to calm his swelling emotions, in which gratitude to God was even stronger than the deep love for his mother.