“Yes, ma’am, she’s real well. Mother’s awful strong. It’s one of the hospital’s half-empty times, so she’s come home for a week. She’s cuttin’ wood this mahnin’. It’s mighty good to have her home—she’s so cheerful.”
“That’s where she shows her strong mind.”
“Yes, ma’am. She says that when summer comes you don’t have smallpox, and when winter comes, typhoid eases off. Mrs. Cleave says the soldiers all like mother.”
“Allan,” remarked Sairy,—“Allan always said Mrs. Maydew was an extraordinary woman. Talkin’ of Allan—”
A lean, red-brown hand came over the gate to the latch. The yellow cat rose, stretched himself, and left the path. The hand opened the gate and Steve Dagg, entering, limped the thirty feet between gate and porch.
“Mornin’, folks!” he said, with an ingratiatory grin.
“Mornin’.”
Steve sat down upon the step, carefully handling, as he did so, the treasure of his foot. “It’s awful hard to be lamed for life! But if you’re lamed in a good cause, I reckon that’s all you ought to ask!”
Sairy eyed him with disfavour. “Land sake, Steve, the war ain’t goin’ to last that long!”
“We were talking about New Market,” said Tom. “Since Monday there ain’t any news come from Richmond way.”