PEACE
"Only the cane now, Andy. The days of crutches are over!"
"Yes, Ruth, the country, the dear free country and I can nearly go alone
now." Andy stood up proudly and beamed upon the pretty girl standing by
his mother.
"I declare!" he laughed, "you look but little older than Ruth, mother!"
"Box his ears well, lass," said Janie, mightily pleased. "He struts,
does Andy, and you and I must take him down."
"Come," Andy broke in, "we must start now. Wrap up well, girls," he
laughed again, "'tis bitter cold, and the way is long."
"No cold can reach me!" cried Janie, pulling her hood well over her
happy face. "Warm hearts make glowing bodies. To think, lad, he will be
with us to-night!"
The door of the little house was drawn to and locked. All within was
beautiful and ready for the patriot who that night would return full of
honors for the part he had played during the last two years.
"Yes. He will be with us, mother," echoed Andy. He looked at Ruth. He
had learned to understand his mother now, and Ruth had shown him the
way.
"It was no light matter," said the girl, keeping step with Andy over the
crisp snow, "for you--your father to be a patriot. He was not only a
patriot but a deserter from the king's army. In every battle he had to
face that."
"Yes," broke in Janie, "and when he went with Wayne to storm Stony
Point, he was nearly captured, as you will remember. And the British
yelled at him, 'Don't shoot that deserter, lead's too good for him.
We'll try an Indian trick on him!'"
Andy's face grew grave. "He's a brave man," he whispered, and drew
Janie's arm within his own. And so the little party came to Fraunce's
Tavern, and bided near the room in which Washington and his officers
were dining before the General departed for Annapolis, where he was to
lay down his commission, for the war was over, and peace had come to the
young country.
"Andy," said Janie, closing the door of the small room which had been
reserved for them, "'twas great luck that my host's wife and I are
friends. Think of us having this to ourselves, and the great General
right in the next room. Ruth, lass, there is a communicating door, as
true as I live! Andy, draw away the sofa."
"Mother, you would not be an eavesdropper?"
"God forbid! Ruthie, is there a keyhole?"
"No keyhole, but a good generous crack in the panel! Hurry, Andy, with
the sofa, the thing weighs a ton. Push!"
"Ruth! We cannot spy upon the General." Andy tried to look severe.
"I can!" laughed the girl, mounting the sofa, and applying her eye to
the crack. "I'm afraid the Revolution has demoralized me, but I must see
the thing through. Andy, they look--they look magnificent!" Ruth was
quivering on her perch. Janie flung prudence and dignity to the winds,
and climbed to Ruth's side, and, being taller, gained a portion of the
crack above the girl's head.
"I can see no one but the General!" she said. "The crack is over-narrow
for such doings!"
"There is no one but Washington!" breathed Andy, and he lifted his head
proudly.
"Yes, there are others," whispered Ruth, misunderstanding, "and if you
run your eye up and down the crack quickly, you can catch a sight of
them. The crack is wider in some parts."
"Heaven save us, lass!" (Ruth's head had come in violent contact with
Janie's chin). "You have loosened my teeth!"
"They are going to drink a toast!" said Ruth, not heeding the accident,
but thrilling with excitement. "Andy, 'tis no wrong we are doing. The
General's voice can be heard distinctly, and I vow there are a dozen
heads at every window opening on the porch. The crack is fine down here.
I can see everything!"
Andy stood still.
"He is raising his glass!" said Ruth near the floor.
"With my heart full of love and gratitude I now take leave of you all.
Most devoutly wishing that your latter days may be as prosperous and
happy as your former ones have been glorious and honorable."
"His eyes are full of tears!" almost sobbed Ruth, and the eyes of them
in the little room were dim. Glasses clinked together, then the full
voice went on:
"I cannot come to each one of you and take my leave, but I shall be
obliged if you will come and take my hand." They needed no second
bidding those comrades, tried and true. One by one, feeling no shame in
their manly show of sorrow, they grasped their General's faithful hand
and parted from him with bowed heads.
"They are going out!" panted Janie. "Now, Andy, for the hall. We must
meet him at the door."
As he came from the banquet room, Washington and his officers met the
three. He knew Andy at a glance, and then recognized Janie. He took
them by the hand, and bowed in courtly fashion.
"Patriots all!" he smiled. "You well deserve your hard-earned peace."
They joined the throngs which followed Washington to the river. They
stood upon the Battery until the barge which bore the gallant figure
away faded from sight. So lost were they in admiration that for a moment
none of them noticed a tall figure approaching dressed in Continental
uniform. Then Janie saw him. Her face flushed like a girl's.
"Andy!" she whispered, pulling her son's sleeve, "see, here is your--"
"Father!" greeted Andy, and stretched out a welcoming hand.
Back to the lonely pass the four went, Janie and Martin on ahead.
"And now," questioned Ruth in a soft whisper, "what comes next, Andy?"
"I am to study. Ah! Ruth, how I shall study! I mean to learn all that I
can and carry the best to them who call me."
"You really mean to be a minister?"
"That I do, God willing!" answered Andy, reverently.
"'Tis a hard life, Andy."
"For that I love it."
"Have you thought where you would like to go?"
"Just where the most urgent call comes. Ruth, the life is hard--"
"I know the life, Andy, and love it!"
"Could you--could you, Ruth?"
"Keep on living it? Yes, dear. Who so well fitted as I?"
They paused on the snowy path, and looked into each other's brave eyes.
"I wonder if any life is really hard, dear Ruth, where--"
"Love lifts the burden? I think not, Andy. Love bears the weight. We
take the glory. It is a wonderful thing."
The red glow of the winter sunset seemed to warm the snow-covered earth,
and in the still beauty the two followed Janie and Martin.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Then Marched the Brave, by Harriet T. Comstock