“I haven’t got any home nor any folks neither;” and the melancholy words banished the brightness from his rough face like a cloud. “Mother died soon after I got back. Suddin’, but she was ready, and I was there, so she was happy. Jim lived a number of years, and was a sight of care, poor feller; but we managed to rub along, though we had to sell the farm: for I couldn’t do much with one arm, and doctor’s bills right along stiddy take a heap of money. He was as comfortable as he could be; and, when he was gone, it wasn’t no great matter, for there was only me, and I don’t mind roughin’ it.” “But Lucindy, where was she?” I asked very naturally. “Oh! she married another man long ago. Couldn’t expect her to take me and my misfortins. She’s doin’ well, I hear, and that’s a comfort anyway.” There was a look on Joe’s face, a tone in Joe’s voice as he spoke, that plainly showed how much he had needed comfort when left to bear his misfortunes all alone. But he made no complaint, uttered no reproach, and loyally excused Lucindy’s desertion with a simple sort of dignity that made it impossible to express pity or condemnation. “How came you here, Joe?” I asked, making a sudden leap from past to present. “I had to scratch for a livin’, and can’t do much; so, after tryin’ a number of things, I found this. My old wounds pester me a good deal, and rheumatism is bad winters; but, while my legs hold out, I can git on. A man can’t set down and starve; so I keep waggin’ as long as I can. When I can’t do no more, I s’pose there’s almshouse and hospital ready for me.” “That is a dismal prospect, Joe. There ought to be a comfortable place for such as you to spend your last days in. I am sure you have earned it.” “Wal, it does seem ruther hard on us when we’ve give all we had, and give it free and hearty, to be left to knock about in our old age. But there’s so many poor folks to be took care of, we don’t get much of a chance, for _we_ ain’t the beggin’ sort,” said Joe, with a wistful look at the wintry world outside, as if it would be better to lie quiet under the snow, than to drag out his last painful years, friendless and forgotten, in some refuge of the poor. “Some kind people have been talking of a home for soldiers, and I hope the plan will be carried out. It will take time; but, if it comes to pass, you shall be one of the first men to enter that home, Joe, if I can get you there.”