Attack, destruction, pestilence and flame had all worked their will there; and many a dream, a plan, a hope now lay in ashes, even like those smoldering cinder-piles across the river--those pyres that marked the death-field of the hateful, venomous, inhuman Horde!
Numb with exhaustion and emotions, he staggered up the path, knocked, and was admitted to his home by the old nurse.
He heard the crying of his son, vigorously protesting against some infant grievance, and his tired heart yearned with strong father-love.
“A hard world, boy!” thought he. “A hard fight, all the way through. God grant, before you come to take the burden and the shock, I may have been able to lighten both for you?”
The old woman touched his arm.
“O, master! Is the fighting past?”
“It is past and done, Gesafam. That enemy, at least, will never come again! But tell me, what causes the boy to cry?”
“He is hungered, master. And I--I do not know the way to milk the strange animal!”
Despite his exhaustion, pain and dour forebodings, Allan had to smile a second.
“That's one thing you've got to learn, old mother!” he exclaimed. “I'll milk presently. But not just yet!”