Babcock followed.
"No, Mr. Crane," said a young girl, opening the door, "she's not
at home. I'm expecting her every minute. Mother went to work
early this morning. She'll be sorry to miss you, sir. She ought
to be home now, for she's been up 'most all night at the fort.
She's just sent Carl up for two more horses. Won't you come in
and wait?"
"No; I'll keep on to the fort," answered Crane. "I may meet her
on the road."
"May I come in?" Babcock asked, explaining his business in a few
words.
"Oh, yes, sir. Mother won't be long now. You've not forgotten
me, Mr. Babcock? I'm her daughter Jennie. I was to your office
once. Gran'pop, this is the gentleman mother works for."
An old man rose with some difficulty from an armchair, and bowed
in a kindly, deferential way. He had been reading near the
window. He was in his shirt-sleeves, his collar open at the
throat. He seemed rather feeble. His legs shook as if he were
weak from some recent illness. About the eyes was a certain
kindliness that did not escape Babcock's quick glance; they were
clear and honest, and looked straight into his--the kind he liked.
The old man's most striking features were his silver-white hair,
parted over his forehead and falling to his shoulders, and his
thin, straight, transparent nose, indicating both ill health and a
certain refinement and sensitiveness of nature.
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