Whenever a batch of newcomers entered, he rose
to drink with them; and, at such times, after pouring off his liquor with
a rich melancholy, shedding tears after every swallow, he would make an
exploring tour of the room on his way back to his corner, stopping to look
under each chair inquiringly and ejaculate: "Why, where kin he be!" Then,
shaking his head, he would observe sadly: "Fine young man, he was, too;
fine young man. Pore fellow! I reckon we hain't a-goin' to git him."
At eleven o'clock. Judge Briscoe dropped wearily from his horse at his own
gate, and said to a wan girl who came running down the walk to meet him:
"There is nothing, yet. I sent the telegram to your mother--to Mrs.
Sherwood."
Helen turned away without answering. Her face was very white and looked
pinched about the mouth. She went back to where old Fisbee sat on the
porch, his white head held between his two hands; he was rocking himself
to and fro. She touched him gently, but he did not look up. She spoke to
him.
"There isn't anything--yet. He sent the telegram to mamma. I shall stay
with you, now, no matter what you say." She sat beside him and put her
head down on his shoulder, and though for a moment he appeared not to
notice it, when Minnie came out on the porch, hearing her father at the
door, the old scholar had put his arm about the girl and was stroking her
fair hair softly.
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