"I guess we'd better not set any longer," observed Jabez Trent. The three veterans rose like one soldier. Reuben felt that their visit had not been what he expected. But he could not deny that he was tired out; he wondered why. He beckoned to Jabez Trent, who, shaking and coughing, bent over him. "You'll see the boys don't forget to decorate Tommy, won't you?" he asked, eagerly. Jabez could not hear much of this, but he got the word Tommy, and nodded. The three old men saluted silently, and when Reuben had put on his nightcap he found that they had all gone. Only Patience was in the room, standing by the jonquils, in her blue gingham dress and white apron. "Tired?" she asked, comfortably. "I've mixed you up an egg-nog. Think you could take it?" "They didn't stay long," complained the old man. "It don't seem to amount to much, does it?" "You've punched your pillows all to pudding-stones," observed Patience Oak. "Let me fix 'em a little." "I won't be fussed over!" cried Reuben, angrily. He gave one of his pillows a pettish push, and it went half across the room. Patience picked it up without remark. Reuben Oak held out a contrite hand. "Peter, come here!" he commanded. Patience, with her maternal smile, obeyed. "You stay, Peter, anyhow. Folks don't amount to anything. It's _you_, Peter." [Illustration: "Folks Don't Amount to Anything. It's _You_, Peter."] Patience's eyes filled. But she hid them on the pillow beside him--he did not know why. She put up one hand and stroked his cheek. "Just as if I was a johnnyquil," said the old man. He laughed, and grew quiet, and slept. But Patience did not move. She was afraid of waking him. She sat crouched and crooked on the edge of the bed, uncomfortable and happy. Out on the street, between the house and the carpenter's shop, the figures of the veterans bent against the perspective of young tobacco. They walked feebly. Old Mr. Succor shook his head: "Looks like he'd never see another Decoration Day. He's some considerable sick--an' he ain't young." "He's got grit, though," urged Jabez Trent. "He's pretty old," sighed David Swing. "He's consider'ble older'n we be. He'd ought to be prepared for his summons any time at his age." "We'll be decorating _him_, I guess, come next year," insisted old Mr. Succor. Jabez Trent opened his mouth to say something, but he coughed too hard to speak. "I'd like to look at Reuben's crop as we go by," remarked the blind man. "He's lucky to have the shop 'n' the crop too." The three turned aside to the field, where old Mr. Succor appraised the immature tobacco leaves with seeing fingers. "Connecticut's a _great_ State!" he cried. "And this here's a great town," echoed David Swing. "Look at the quota we sent--nigh a full company. And we had a great colonel," he added, proudly. "I calc'late he'd been major-general if it hadn't 'a' been for that infernal shell."