There was no work for him. So we went on.
Thank you, Doctor.”
“Quiet. No more talking.”
And Bruce’s father, panting on the low road,
Wondered why his son would never rest.
IX
The risen sun, sparkling upon their bridles,
Hastened the roan horses; and brought Bruce—
Brought even the stiff doctor—beams of hope,
Of something like belief; though Bruce remembered,