“Some one--has to,” she said at last, quietly.
Jane went down to the village the next afternoon, leaving her sister in charge at home. When she returned, an hour later, Mary met her at the gate, crying and wringing her hands.
“Jane, Jane, I thought you would never come! I can’t do a thing with him. He insists that he isn’t at home, and that he wants to go there. I told him, over and over again, that he was at home already, but it didn’t do a bit of good. I’ve had a perfectly awful time.”
“Yes, I know. Where is he?”
“In the kitchen. I--I tied him. He just would go, and I couldn’t hold him.”
“Oh, Mary!” And Jane fairly flew up the walk to the kitchen door. A minute later she appeared, leading an old man, who was whimpering pitifully.
“Home, Jane. I want ter go home.”
“Yes, dear, I know. We’ll go.” And Mary watched with wondering eyes while the two walked down the path, through the gate and across the street to the next corner, then slowly crossed again and came back through the familiar doorway.
“Home!” chuckled the old man gleefully.
“We’ve come home!”