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When the war is over the thunder of the last cannon will hardly have died away before I shall be at your side. Till then adieu.” That letter was very precious to Joyce. Before the war was over it was nearly worn out by being read and reread. Shortly after Mr. Crawford’s return he was asked by Andrew Harmon for permission to pay his addresses to his daughter.
Joyce! don’t go, hear me,” he exclaimed. “You will find your horse in the stable,” was all she said, as she passed out. He left the house vowing vengeance, and lost no time in informing the Federal authorities that the wounded officer at Crawford’s was shamming, and would give them the slip if not taken away.
She sank into a chair weeping, and for a time forgot her prisoner. The next day Joyce had another visitor, in the person of Andrew Harmon. He had heard that his horse was at Crawford’s, and that the officer who took him was there desperately wounded. He made his visit with pleasure, for of all the girls in Columbiana County, she was the one he had selected to become Mrs. Harmon.
That’s straight, fellers. I was Crawford’s gardener when it happened an’—” Old Blink stopped and got red and then white, and I could see the other truck men looking uncomfortable. I looked up and there was Dad Crawford on the curb boring holes into Blink with those cold gray eyes of his and looking as white as marble. No one said a word. It seemed as if the whole street became hushed and silent.
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