When the regiment whose colonel was Keith flowed up Broadway, Patty was not there to run out and kiss his hand, as she would have done if she could have seen him on his horse with his epaulets twinkling on his shoulders, and his sword clinking against his thigh.
His father watched him from a window and then hurried up side streets to meet and embrace him when he was free of his soldiers. RoBards had to wait, of course, until Keith had hugged his wife and tossed aloft the child he saw now for the first time. Then the author of all this grandeur came meekly forward and felt small and old and foolish in the great arms of this famous officer.
“Where’s mother!” Keith cried.
“Up at the farm.”
“Why couldn’t she have come down to meet me?”
“She’s not very well of late.”
Keith’s pique turned to alarm. He knew his mother and he knew that nothing light could have kept her from this hour. But Frances turned his thoughts aside with hasty chatter, and dragged him home.
The next day he obtained leave from the formalities of the muster-out and was ready for a journey to Kensico. His father, who had to be in town for his business’ sake and to gain new strength for Patty’s needs, went with him.
On the way up Keith said:
“What’s all this mystery about mother?”