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Updated: June 12, 2025
Her little figure stiffened, her hands were down at her sides and clenched, her chin was lifted a little. The whole attitude was soldierlike. "They are two of a kind," said Terry within herself. "They are men. They are Packards. I am proud and and afraid and Oh, dear God! Dear God! Bring him back to me!" She could hear Steve giving his brief orders crisply.
There were snub-nosed Model T's, packed till they bulged; monstrous Packards with doors tied shut; yellow roadsters that had been smart ten years ago, jolting along with mattresses on their tops and young families jammed into their luggage compartments. Once in a while they met another goat, like Carrie, who wasn't giving as much milk as before.
Further, it was undeniable that he had a good-natured grin, that his eyes though inclined either to be stern or else to laugh at her, were frank and steady, that he made a figure that fitted well in the eye of a girl like Terry Temple. "Oh, the Packards are men," said Terry begrudgingly, "even if they are pirates!" This to her father and, it is to be suspected, for her father's sake.
Here and there, elsewhere in the valley, the fires still burned on. There were wide stretches across which the flames had already swept so that now they were ink-black, burnt-out, smoking a little. Upon such an open space, still hot under their horses' hoofs, the two Packards, grandfather and grandson, came face to face. And they were stern, ominously set faces confronting each other.
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