“And where is Sam Jarvis?”

The colonel raised the window.

“Listen!” he said: 

Up from the valley floated the far mellow notes: 

  I’m dreaming now of Hallie, sweet Hallie,
    For the thought of her is one that never dies. 
  She’s sleeping in the valley
    And the mocking bird is singing where she lies. 
  Listen to the mocking bird singing o’er her grave,
  Listen to the mocking bird, where the weeping willows wave.

“The words of the song are sad,” said Colonel Talbot, “but sad music does not necessarily make one feel sad.  On the contrary we are all very cheerful here, and Mr. Jarvis is the happiest man I have ever known.  I think it’s because his nature is so kindly.  A heart of gold, pure gold, Harry, and that extraordinary old woman, Aunt Suse, insists that you are your own greatgrandfather, the famous governor of Kentucky.”

“I was here before in the first year of the war, colonel, and she foretold that I would return just as I did.  How do you account for that, sir?”

“I don’t try to account for it.  A great deal of energy is wasted in trying to account for the unknowable.  I shall take it as it is.”

“What has become of Colonel Winchester, sir?”

“He rode yesterday to a tiny hamlet about twenty miles away.  We had heard from a mountaineer that an officer returning from the war was there, and since we old soldiers like to foregather, we decided to have him come and join our party.  They are due here, and unless my eyes deceive me—­ and I know they don’t—­they’re at the bead of the valley now, riding toward this house.”

Harry detected a peculiar note in Colonel Talbot’s voice, and his mind leaped at once to a conclusion.

“That officer is my father!” he exclaimed.

“According to all the descriptions, it is he, and now you can sit up and welcome him.”

The meeting between father and son was not demonstrative, but both felt deep emotion.

“Fortune has been kind to us, Harry, to bring us both safely out of the long war,” said Colonel Kenton.

“Kinder than we had a right to hope,” said Harry.

The entire group rode together to Pendleton, and Dick was welcomed like one risen from the dead by his mother, who told him a few weeks later that he was to have a step-father, the brave colonel, Arthur Winchester.

“He’s the very man I’d have picked for you, mother,” said Dick gallantly.

The little town of Pendleton was unharmed by the war, and, since bitter feeling had never been aroused in it, the reunion of North and South began there at once.  In an incredibly short period everything went on as before.

The two colonels and their younger comrades remained a while as the guests of Colonel Kenton and his son, and then they started for the farther south where St. Clair and Langdon were to begin the careers in which they achieved importance.