He paused on the hills and looked backward as Betsy had done. The blinking windows seemed to beckon him back. But he bravely said no to them:
“I ain’t no deserter! I’m coming back—with her—with her. Don’t you understand? With her! Bride and groom again.”
The windows seemed to understand, and stopped beckoning. He waved them a farewell and went on.
It was a long road—forty dusty miles—and hilly. Each hill growing higher and steeper as he approached the city—itself set upon a hill—where the poor-house was. His progress was very slow—sometimes not more than half a mile a day. But he never faltered.
“It’s like climbing Zion’s hill,” said John to himself. “Oh, when she sees me! I shan’t care how many hills there were!”
His bundle was made up in a great red handkerchief, from which his sword protruded, within which was his best uniform. Farm-houses were his sleeping places—but that only. No more than one night for each, though he might have stayed anywhere as long as he wished.
“‘It’s like climbing Zion’s hill,’ said John to himself”
“I’m going to bring her—her, you know, home. Bride and groom. She said it. I heard her voice in the night.”
And this was always sufficient reason for refusing the dear, insidious hospitality pressed everywhere upon him.