"Why, it's Si himself," screamed the mother in joyful accents. The next instant she had sped down the walk quicker than she had ever gone in her girlhood days, her arms about his neck, and she was crying on his shoulder.
CHAPTER XIII. MANY HAPPY EVENTS
HOURS THAT WERE ALL-TOO-FEW AND ALL-TOO-SHORT.
THE girls heard their mother's happy scream and rushed out, dish towels in hand. They at once realized what had happened, piped up their joyous altos, and precipitated themselves upon Si. The good old Deacon came trotting down the walk, fidgeting with his spectacles, but so enveloped was his son with skirts and women's arms and happy, teary faces that he could not get within arm's length of him. So he turned to Shorty:
"Great day, Shorty, but I'm glad to see you! Come right up on the steps and set down. How'd you happen to come home. Either of you sick or wounded?"
"Nope," answered Shorty sententiously. "Both sound as nuts and healthy as mules."
"Well, come right up on the porch and set down. You must be awful tired. Le'me carry your gun and things for you."