Then Judge Barstow in good-humored tones to Jerry: "My boy, don't you think you would find it quite as pleasant down there among the others? This little girl doesn't want to be up here, I am sure; suppose you both go down and fall behind the procession? You can see the General when the carriage passes; it is to be thrown open so every one can see."
Then the marshal: "If you please, Judge Barstow, it won't do for them to try to get through now. The crowd is so great they might be hurt; there is plenty of room where they stand. They will do no harm."
Now the tears must come from the indignant eyes. No, they shall not. Jerry doesn't even wink. He only laughs, in the highest good humor. Has Jerry gone wild with excitement? "It will all be over in two minutes," explains Judge Barstow. "He wished to drive directly to his hotel, and have perfect quiet for two hours. He declined to be entertained at a private house, or to say a word at the depot. I suppose he is fatigued, and doesn't like to trust his voice to speak in the open air; so the committee are to shake hands with him as rapidly as possible, and show him to his carriage, and not wait on him for two hours. He has ordered a private dinner at the Keppler House."
Suddenly there is the whistle of the train, the band plays See, the conquering Hero comes! With the second strain the train comes to a halt, and a tall, broad-shouldered man with iron gray hair and a military air all about him steps from the platform amid the cheers of thousands. Now indeed there was some excuse for Lorena Barstow's loud exclamations of disapproval! There was Jerry, pushing his way among the throng, holding so firmly all the while to Nettie's hand that escape was impossible—pushing even past the reception committee, notwithstanding the detaining hand of Judge Barstow, who says,
"See here, my boy, you are impudent, did you know it?"
"I beg pardon," says Jerry respectfully, but he slips past him, just as General McClintock with courteous words is thanking the committee of reception, declining their pressing personal invitations, his eyes meantime roving over the crowd in search of something or somebody. Suddenly they melt with a tenderness which does not belong to the soldier, and the firm lips quiver as his voice says: "O my boy!" and Jerry the Irish boy flings himself into General McClintock's arms, and the world stands agape!
Just a second, and his hand holds firmly to the sack which covers Nettie's startled frightened form, then he releases himself and turns to her: "Father, this is Nettie!"
"Sure enough!" said the General, and his tall head bends and the mustached lips of the old soldier touch Nettie's cheek, and the cheering, hushed for a second, breaks forth afresh! It is a moment of the wildest excitement. Even then Nettie tries to break away and is held fast. And an officer of the day advances with the military salute and assures the General that his carriage is in waiting. And the General himself hands the bewildered Nettie in, with a friendly smile and an assuring: "Of course you must go. My boy planned this whole thing three months ago; and you and I must carry out his programme to the letter." Then Jerry springs like a cat into the carriage, and the scholars sing, Hail to the Chief, and the carriage, drawn by four horses, rolls down the road made wide for it by the homeguard in full uniform, and the General lifts his hat and bows right and left, and smiles on Nettie Decker sitting by his side, and almost devours with his hungry, fatherly eyes, her friend the Irish boy on the opposite seat. And the scholars almost forget to sing, in their great and ever-increasing amazement.