Chapter 45

Since that day I have seen much coming and going.

We are now the old folks - Margaret and Nehemiah and Hope and
I. Those others, with their rugged strength, their simple ways, their
undying youth, are of the past. The young folks - they are a new
kind of people. It gives us comfort to think they will never have to
sing in choirs or 'pound the rock' for board money; but I know it is
the worse luck for them. They are a fine lot of young men and
women - comely and well-mannered - but they will not be the
pathfinders of the future. What with balls and dinners and clubs
and theatres, they find too great a solace in the rear rank.

Nearly twenty years after that memorable Christmas, coming from
Buffalo to New York one summer morning, my thoughts went
astray in the north country. The familiar faces, the old scenes came
trooping by and that very day I saw the sun set in Hillsborough as I
had often those late years.

Mother was living in the old home, alone, with a daughter of
Grandma Bisnette. It was her wish to live and die under that roof.
She cooked me a fine supper, with her own hands, and a great
anxiety to please me.

'Come Willie!' said she, as if I were a small boy again, 'you fill the
woodbox an' I'll git supper ready. Lucindy, you clear out,' she said
to the hired girl, good-naturedly. 'You dunno how t'cook for him.'

I filled the woodbox and brought a pail of water and while she was
frying the ham and eggs read to her part of a speech I had made in
Congress. Before thousands I had never felt more elation. At last I
was sure of winning her applause. The little bent figure stood,
thoughtfully, turning the ham and eggs. She put the spider aside, to
stand near me, her hands upon her hips. There was a mighty pride
in her face when I had finished.

I rose and she went and looked out of the window.

'Grand!' she murmured, wiping her eyes with the corner of her
handkerchief.

'Glad you like it,' I said, with great satisfaction.

'O, the speech!' she answered, her elbow resting on the window
sash, her hand supporting her head. 'I liked it very well - but - but I
was thinking of the sunset. How beautiful it is.

I was weary after my day of travel and went early to bed there in
my old room. I left her finishing a pair of socks she had been
knitting for me. Lying in bed, I could hear the creak of her chair
and the low sung, familiar words:

'On the other side of Jordan, In the sweet fields of Eden, Where the
tree of life is blooming, There is rest for you.

Late at night she came into my room with a candle. I heard her
come softly to the bed where she stood a moment leaning over me.
Then she drew the quilt about my shoulder with a gentle hand.