When the train reached the platform, she saw Briscoe and
the others rush into the car, and there ensued what was to her an almost
intolerable pause of expectation, while the crowd besieged the windows of
the smoker, leaning up and climbing on each other's shoulders to catch the
first glimpse of _him_. Briscoe and a red-faced young man, a stranger to
Plattville, came down the steps, laughing like boys, and then Keating and
Bence, and then Warren Smith. As the lawyer reached the platform, he
turned toward the door of the car and waved his hand as in welcome.
"Here he is, boys!" he shouted, "Welcome Home!" At that it was as if all
the noise that had gone before had been mere leakage of pent-up
enthusiasm. A thousand horns blared deafeningly, the whistles of the
engine and of Hibbard's mill were added to the din, the court-house bell
was pealing out a welcome, and the church bells were ringing, the cannon
thundered, and then cheer on cheer shook the air, as John Harkless came
out under the flags, and passed down the steps of the car.
When Helen saw him, over the heads of the people and through a flying
tumult of flags and hats and handkerchiefs, she gave one frightened glance
about her, and jumped down from her high perch, and sank into the back
seat of the buckboard with her burning face turned from the station and
her eyes fixed on the ground.
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