Mason blushed visibly. "Well, so are you homesick. I wish I could see that fellow Mike you are always talking about. I know every story by heart that the Mick ever told, and the little girl and your brother and his wife—why, you think about them as often as I do about my folks."
Charles made no denial. They were passing one of the churches of the town. It was an old brick building with ivy growing on the walls, a beautiful sward about it. The front doors were open. They paused and looked in. A negro sexton was sweeping the floor near the pulpit. Mason was for moving on, but his friend seemed to linger.
As they left, Charles said, frankly: "I'm not a member of any church and I have no religious creed, but if I lived in this town I'd want to come here every Sunday morning and sit back somewhere in the rear and listen, and get into contact with the people, real people—not the sort we've been traveling with for nearly a year. O God! I'm weary of it—weary, weary! I want a home of some sort. You have one that you can go to. I haven't, but I want to make one. Strange idea, isn't it? But I want it."
Mason laid his hand on his friend's arm gently, tenderly. "Poor old chap!" he said. "I understand you better now. And you think you could make a permanent home for yourself in a place like this?"
"Something tells me to stop here—right here, old man. Something seems to say that it is to be my home for all the rest of my life. Ever since we turned northward I've felt uneasy. I've not slept so well. I've dreamed of disaster up there. I've not heard from home once since we left New York. I've seen no paper. I don't know what they think of me. Some of my people may be dead. I don't know. I don't dare to think of it. I want to blot it all out, for it no longer pertains to me."
"I see," Mason said, gloomily. "Well, you must be your own judge and I must be mine. Somehow I can't dig the homesick feeling out of myself. I thought I could stick to the gang till we got back to New York, but, as I have my pay, and some more besides, if you quit I'll follow suit and travel first-class, like a gentleman, back to New York, where I'll stop a while before going home. Have you made up your mind?"
"Yes, fully," Charles answered. "I'll find something to do. I'd like to work on a farm. Out in the country my life could be even more private and secluded than here in a town like this. See those hills? They seem made for me, old man. They seem to have fallen from the eternal blue overhead. They will shelter me. I'll work and sleep and forget. The inhabitants will never know who I am, but I'll like them. I'll serve them, and perhaps they will like me a little after a while. The manager can easily fill my place."
"Well, then, it is settled," said Mason, with a deep breath. "It seems strange to think of parting with a pal like you, and I guess it means for good and all. You don't intend ever to see your folks again?"
"My relatives, no," Charles said. "I've thought often of writing back to dear old Mike, but don't think it would be quite safe. If I had any way of communicating with him other than the mails I would let him know where I am. I could trust him with my life."
"How about letting me go to Boston? I could see him on the quiet and tell him about you."