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"Folks at home, Sis and Bill and the kid, mother and father, used to gather around the piano every Sunday evening and sing 'em. Didn't think much of them then, but liked to sing. But they mean a lot to me over here, especially when I'm on guard at nights on this 'Dead Man's Curve. Seems like they make me stronger." As I walked away I still heard him humming "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me."
She and Sis were on their way to something or other. "Trimmed up like Easter hats, you two!" I said. "School has not changed you, I fear, Barbara," mother observed. "I hope you are studying hard." "Exactly as hard as I have to. No more, no less," I regret to confess that I replied. And I saw Sis and mother exchange glances of signifacance.
Anyhow, you know as much as I do, and that is a good deal more than you ought to know, or others are likely to know. If you hear anything further, it will be from March himself. "When the Mexican bees have settled down in their hive again, and we're back at Fort Alvarado, I'm going to have a good try for a month's leave or longer, so as to cross the blue with the mater and sis.
Pen was three years old, but he was the baby when his mother died; so Sis walked him to sleep every night: all tender memories of her who was gone clinging about the little fat lump of mischief in his white night-gown. A wiry voice spoke out of some corner, "Yer 'd hev a thumpin' good warmin', Mars' Penrose, ef ole Oth hed his will o' yer! It 'ud be a special 'pensation ob de Lord fur dat chile!"
"O sis' Susie, you know my two nice boys was sole from me two year afore I was sole off dat plantation down de river, an' it 'peared like my heart was broke; an' missus had me hit fifty lashes 'case I cried so much. An' de Lo'd has been my sun an shiel' all dis time. An' here I foun' my two boys; da's heap bigger, but da's my own dear boys.
But one afternoon, as he sat on the piazza of the hotel nursing his confusion and discontent, Sis Poteet rode by. It was a tantalising vision, though a fleeting one. It seemed to be merely the flash of a red feather, the wave of a white hand, to which Woodward lifted his hat; but these were sufficient. The red feather nodded gaily to him, the white hand invited.
That was all that worried me." "Your cup is a beauty though, sis," said Jack, who was examining the trophy. "I think it's prettier than the one we lost. Paul is not satisfied that we lost fairly though, and he's up there now disputing it." "What good can that do now?" asked Belle. "No telling. Paul knows what he is about," replied Jack.
Her brother never winced, and after she had inflicted two more of those well-worn gospel hymns upon him he quietly remarked, "My dear sis, you are not punishing me for what I once said half as much as you think you are. Sing some more of them; they sound like old times." And it was true, too.
The house had been transformed, and if not always in the best of taste, love shone through the blunders. "Oh, Father," I cried, "now I am surprised! How much wheat it must have cost!" "Well, I guess we can stand it," he said, grimly pleased and proud and anxious all at once. "We wanted to make it kind o' pleasant for ye, Sis; an' an' homelike."
"Hang on by your eyelids, sis! but don't stir, for Heaven's sake!" shouted one of the men, as two others started on a hopeless ascent of the cliff above them. But a light childish laugh from the clinging little figure seemed to mock them!
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