"And there used to come back from the front letters marked 'missing' or 'can't be found.' Folks used to come in gay and go away with a letter just crumpled up in a hand. And now it's all over—and up you come right gallant and happy. Here comes old Granny Lamb tottering along. I'd invent a letter from that brute if I could. I tell you, Leila, mother-hope dies hard."
"It is sad—dreadful. Come, John."
"One minute, please," said Mrs. Crocker, "I'm not half done. I tell you, Captain John, there's a heap of human nature comin' and goin' through a post-office. Well, good-bye."
They rode away to Grey Pine exchanging bits from their letters. Their uncle and aunt would be home in a week. "Sooner—if they get the letter I mailed last night," laughed Leila.
"I should like to have seen it."
"No doubt."
At the open avenue gate Josiah was waiting. He saluted in soldier fashion, Penhallow acknowledging the greeting in like manner.
Josiah said, "Wouldn't you just let me have a minute with the Captain?"
Leila laughed. "Certainly." She rode away wondering what Josiah had to report alone to the man who for him was and always would he Captain despite the old custom of the regular army.
"Well, Josiah—nothing wrong, I trust."