He blew a blast, silver clear, golden clear, sunlight clear. And I sent him through the crowd, blowing, and making a path right up to the automobile. Then I signed to the children, and I had them come down that open aisle. And they came singing, all together, the song they had sung behind the thicket. And they pressed close around the car, singing still:
"Don't you wish we had a place
Where only bright things are,
Like the things we dream about,
And like a star?"
And there they came to meet him—Art and Science and Plenty and Beauty and Friendship—Friendship. I don't know whether he understood what they said. I don't know whether he understood the meaning of what they carried—for Jeffro wasn't quite sure of our language all the time. But, oh, he couldn't misunderstand the spirit of that time or of those folks.
He got to his feet, Jeffro did, his face kind of still and solemn. And just then Mis' Silas Sykes, in a black dress, without a scrap of red or blue about her, stepped up to him, her face fair grief-struck. And she says:
"Oh, Mr. Jeffro. The D. A. R., and the G. A. R., and the W. R. C. was to welcome you back from the glories of war. And here you've took us unbeknownst."