Bart came upon the ground with his mother, near whom he remained, and to whom he was very attentive.  To him the whole thing was very impressive.  His poetic fancy idealized it, and carried him back till he seemed to see and hear the dedication of a young, pure spirit to the sweet sacredness of a holy life, as in the days of the preachings of the apostles.  When the final hymn was given out he stood by his brother, facing most of the crowd, and for the first time they recognized in him a nameless something that declared and asserted itself—­something that vaguely hinted of the sheaf of the boy Joseph, that arose and stood upright, and to which their sheaves involuntarily did obeisance.

Still very young, and less handsome than his brother, he was yet more striking, pale and fair, with little color, and a face of boyish roundness, which began to develop lines of thought and strength.  His brow, not so beautiful, was more ample; his features were regular, but lacked the light, bright, vivacious expression of Morris; while from his deep, unwinking eyes men saw calmly looking out a strong, deep nature, not observed before.  He joined his mother and brother in the last hymn.  Everybody knew the Ridgeleys could sing.  They carried the burden of the grand and simple old tune nearly alone.  The fine mezzo-soprano of the mother, the splendid tenor of Morris, and the rich baritone of Bart, in their united effect, had never been equalled in the hearing of that assembly.  The melody was a sweet and fitting finale of the day, swelling out and dying away in the high arches of the forest.

* * * * *

The Coes were objects of the kindness of Mrs. Markham and Julia, obnoxious as was their religious faith; but Mrs. Markham was tolerant, and she and her husband and daughter, with most of the State road people, were present.

While they were waiting for the crowd to disperse, so that they could reach their carriage, the Ridgeleys, who began to move out, on their way home, approached, and were pleasantly recognized by the Markhams, with whom the Major was a great favorite.  The two parties joined, shook hands, and interchanged a pleasant greeting—­all but Bart.  He moved a little away, and acknowledged their presence by holding his hat in his hand, as if unconscious that he was a spectacle for the eyes of some of them, and without betraying that he could by any possibility care.  It was a sore trial for him.

Mrs. Markham looked at him several times as if she would go to him, and an expression once or twice came into the sweet and pensive face of Julia, that seemed to mean that she wished she could say to him, “I want so much to thank you for your courage and generosity!” Morris noticed the strange conduct of Barton, and felt an impulse to call to him, and on their way home he spoke to him about it.

“Why, Bart, what is the matter?  I thought you and the Markhams were on the best of terms; especially you and Julia and Mrs. Markham.”