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As he flung himself down in the strip of shade, his gaze went longingly to the dim chain of mountains which showed like faint blue clouds against the sky, while his thoughts returned, as a sick man's, to the clustered elm boughs and the smooth lawn at Chericoke, and to Betty blooming like a flower in a network of sun and shade.
When she had exhausted the spring ploughing, the crops still to be planted and the bright May weather, Dan stopped beside the ashes of Chericoke, and looked at her with sombre eyes. "Betty, we must have it out," he said abruptly. "I have thought over it until I'm almost mad, and I see but one sensible thing for you to do you must give me up my dearest." A smile flickered about Betty's mouth.
"All right, tell her I'm coming," and he dressed hurriedly and ran down into the hall where he found Champe Lightfoot, the Major's great-nephew, who lived at Chericoke. "Hello!" called Champe at once, plunging his hands into his pockets and presenting an expression of eager interest. "When did you get here?"
"They've found out we won't give in so long as there's a musket left; and that's enough for them." "Maybe so, maybe so," returned the Governor, for it was a part of his philosophy to cast his conversational lines in the pleasant places. "Please God, we'll drink our next Christmas glass at Chericoke." "In the panelled parlour," added Dan, his eyes lighting.
In the bright sunshine he saw the flash of steel and the glitter of gold braid, and the noise of tramping feet cheered him like music as he walked on gayly, filled with visions. For was he not marching to his chosen end to victory, to Chericoke to Betty? Or if the worst came to the worst well, a man had but one life, after all, and a life was a little thing to give his country.
"Then keep it bottled up," rejoined Champe, coolly, as they turned into the drive at Chericoke. In Dan's room they found Big Abel stretched before the fire asleep; and as the young men came in, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Hi! young Marsters, hit's ter-morrow!" he exclaimed. "To-morrow! I wish it were to-morrow," responded Dan, cheerfully. "The fire makes my head spin like a top.
The Major's fighting blood had stirred within his grandson's veins, and generations of dead Lightfoots were scenting the coming battle from the dust. When Dan thought now of the end to which he should presently be marching, it suggested to him but a quickened exhilaration of the pulses and an old engraving of "Waterloo," which hung on the dining-room wall at Chericoke.
We were at Chericoke on Christmas Eve in a big snowstorm, and Dick couldn't resist his glass he never could so long as there was a drop at the bottom of it the more he drank, the thirstier he got, he used to say.
Dan's whistle stopped abruptly. "On a dish of fried chicken and a pot of coffee," he replied at once. "What's become of the waffles?" demanded Jack indignantly. "I say, old man, do you remember the sinful waste on those blessed Christmas Eves at Chericoke? I've been trying to count the different kinds of meat roast beef, roast pig, roast goose, roast turkey " "Hold your tongue, won't you?"
In her own room she threw herself upon her bed, and cried for Dan until the morning. When Dan went down into the shadows of the road, he stopped short before he reached the end of the stone wall, and turned for his last look at Chericoke.
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