“I ain’t come home expectin’ that you’re goin’ to treat me anyways like a brother, Phin,” he muttered brokenly. “I ain’t ever been any good to the family. I——”
“Don’t say that, brother Hiram! Don’t!” pleaded the Squire.
“But it’s the God’s truth, Phin. I don’t even know whether father’s—whether he’s——” He stood back and raised entreating eyes to his brother’s face. “You needn’t say it, Phin, boy,” he went on mournfully. “All I can do is thank God that father had one boy that he didn’t have to be ashamed of. I don’t ask you to overlook it—any of it, Phin. I don’t expect you to do it. I ain’t come back for it.”
The old men had been slowly straggling down from the platform, still busied with their survey of this amazing new arrival.
The Squire glanced around at them and spoke guardedly. His tone was gently reproachful.
“Not a word from you or of you for twenty-five years! Hime, I never understood that. Father didn’t understand it!”
“Understand it!” shouted his brother, careless of the throng. “Understand it! Of course you can’t. No man with decency in his soul and honesty in his heart could understand it. I tell ye, Phin, I ain’t worth your while to talk to, I had a little hopes of myself, Phin, a few weeks ago. It came over me all of a sudden. I’ve come back to square one end of it.” He glared at the men who were crowding around them. “But our family end, Phin, can never be squared. I’ve travelled five hundred miles in the sun and dust to pay my honest debts. That much I can do. Then for the road again.” He tossed a pathetic gesture at the elephant and the vans. “I did think of sellin’ ’em along with the rest I sold,” he added wistfully. “I had thought perhaps—I didn’t know, but—well, Phin, it’s better to go on, that’s all.” Here and there from gardens, from little shops and from the houses near by, men were issuing; the cobbler with his canvas apron tucked up, the blacksmith spatting his smutty hands together, and the men who had forgotten to lay down their hoes. All were shouting questions to each other and pointing at the procession that had come to town.
The Squire eyed the approach of these spectators with some uneasiness, but the glance he turned on his brother was full of kindly emotion. He went along and patted Hiram on his broad back.
“There’ll be plenty of time for us to talk it all over, Hime,” he murmured. “I know I shall understand. Let’s go home. I’m still in the old house.” Then with the New England ability to repress emotion he stood back and ran his eye over his brother.
“Well, you certainly aren’t ‘Bean-Pole Look’ any longer,” he cried in his usual cheery tones, loud enough for all to hear.