He knew that
he should always remember that moment. She knew it, too. She put her hand
to her cheek and turned away from him a little tremulously. Both were
silent.
They had been together since early morning. Plattville was proud of him.
Many a friendly glance from the folk who jostled about them favored his
suit and wished both of them well, and many lips, opening to speak to
Harkless in passing, closed when their owners (more tactful than Mr.
Bardlock) looked a second time.
Old Tom Martin, still perched alone On his high seat, saw them standing by
the tent-pole, and watched them from under his rusty hat brim. "I reckon
it's be'n three or four thousand years since I was young," he sighed to
himself; then, pushing his hat still further down over his eyes: "I don't
believe I'd ort to rightly look on at that." He sighed again as he rose,
and gently spoke the name of his dead wife: "Marjie,--it's be'n lonesome,
sometimes. I reckon you're mighty tired waitin' for me, ever since sixty-
four--yet maybe not; Ulysses S. Grant's over on your side now, and perhaps
you've got acquainted with him; you always thought a good deal more of him
than you did of me."
"Do you see that tall old man up there?" said Helen, nodding her head
toward Martin. "I think I should like to know him. I'm sure I like him."
"That is old Tom Martin.
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