A little apart from the rest George Graham stood, wishing that the cars would come, and building airy-castles of what would be when he returned, covered with laurels, as he was sure to do if only opportunities were offered. He would distinguish himself, he thought, with many a brave deed, so that the papers would talk of him as a gallant hero, and when he came back to Rockland, the people would come out to meet him, a denser crowd than was assembled now. Their faces would not then be so sad, for they would come to do him honor, and in fancy he heard the stirring notes of the martial music, and saw the smile of joy steal over the weather-beaten features of the leader of the band, the man with the jammed white hat, as he fifed that welcome home. There would be carriages there, too, more than now, and maybe there would be _a carriage expressly for him_, and the dreamer saw the long procession moving down the street,—saw the little boys on the walk, the women at the doors, and heard the peal of the village bells. It would be grand, he thought, if he could have a crown just as the Roman victors used to do,—it would please Annie so much to see him thus triumphant. _She_ would not come up to the depot, he knew. She would rather be alone when she met him, while he, too, would prefer that all those people should not be looking on when he kissed his little wife. Just then the train appeared, and the confusion became greater as the crowd drew nearer together, and the man with the jammed white hat who was to fife George’s welcome home, redoubled his exertions, and tried his best to drown his own emotions in the harsh sounds he made. But above the fife’s shrill scream, above the bass drum’s beat, and above the engine’s hiss, was heard the sound of wailing, as one by one the Rockland volunteers stepped aboard the train. Bill was the last to go, for as a parting act he had fired the old cannon, which almost from time immemorial had heralded to Rockland’s sleeping citizens that twelve o’clock had struck and it was Independence day. Some said it was no good omen that the worn-out gun burst in twain from the heavy charge with which Bill had seen fit to load it, but Bill cared not for omens, and with three cheers and a _tiger_ for Uncle Sam, he jumped upon the platform just as the final all aboard was shouted. There was a ringing of the bell, a sudden puffing of the engine, a straining of machinery, a sweeping backward of the wreaths of smoke, and then, where so lately one hundred soldiers had been, there was nothing left save an open space of frozen ground and iron rails, as cold and as empty as the hearts of those who watched until the last curling ring of vapor died amid the eastern woods, and then went sadly back to the homes left so desolate. CHAPTER IV. WILL AND BROTHER TOM.