Annie did not mean to be selfish. She was too much benumbed to realize anything fully, and she never thought what it would cost Rose to stay there, knowing her husband would seek her at home, and be so disappointed at not finding her there. Rose could not refuse a request so touchingly made, but just as the morning broke she went home for a few moments to see that all necessary preparations were made for Will’s comfort; then, penning him a note to tell why she was not there to meet him, she returned again to the cottage, where Widow Simms was busily at work setting things to rights for the expected arrival, her tears falling upon the furniture she was dusting, and her chest heaving with sobs as she heard in the distance the sound of a gathering crowd, and thought, “It may be my boy they’ll go up next to meet.” Poor Annie, too, shuddered and moaned as she caught the ominous sounds, and knew what they portended. “It would be better to bring him back quietly,” she said. “It seems almost like mockery, this parade, which he can never know. I may be glad, by and by that they honored him thus, but it’s so hard now,” and covering her head with her pillow, Annie wept silently as she heard the mournful beat of the muffled drum, and knew the march to the depot had commenced. How Rose wanted to be in the street and see her husband when he came; but with heroic self-denial, she forced down every longing to be away, and sitting down by Annie, busied herself with counting off the minutes and wondering if the clock would ever point to half-past ten, or the train ever arrive.