"Won't you come home with us? Our father and mother will be so glad to have you," they said hospitably.
After questioning them a little further, she decided to go. The boys climbed into the back of the wagon. As they went along, the boys told her all about her son,—his carrying Frank, their finding him wounded near the road, and about his death and burial.
"He was a real brave soldier," they told her consolingly.
As they approached the house, she asked whether they could give her grandson something to eat.
"Oh, yes, indeed. Certainly," they answered. Then, thinking perhaps they were raising her hopes too high, they exclaimed apologetically:
"We haven't got much. We didn't kill any squirrels this morning. Both our guns are broken and don't shoot very well, now."
She was much impressed by the appearance of the place, which looked very beautiful among the trees.
"Oh, yes, they're big folks," said the driver.
She would have waited at the gate when they reached the house, but the boys insisted that they all should come in at once. One of them ran forward and, meeting his mother just coming out to the porch, told who the visitor was.
Their mother instantly came down the steps and walked toward the gate. The women met face to face. There was no introduction. None was needed.