“Come, Thomas,” said his father at last; “the stage’ll soon be along, and thee’ll miss it if thee don’t look out. I’ll walk down to the road with thee.”
“Farewell, William,” said Tom, shaking hands with his brother.
“Farewell, Thomas.”
“John—”
“I guess I’ll walk down to the road with thee, Thomas. Let me carry thy bundle,” said John.
“Never mind; it’s very light,” said Tom.
They were silent as they went down the lane, and silent for a while as they stood at the roadside waiting for the stage; each was occupied with his own thoughts. At last John broke through the painful silence. “The stage is mighty late this morning,” said he, in a constrained voice.
“Thee’ll write to us, won’t thee, Thomas?” said his father, looking away as he spoke.
“Yonder’s the stage coming down Wilkes’ Hill,” said John.