We
exchanged cards and farewells, I mounted the wagon, the horses' heads
were turned homewards, my two companions went their way, and I saw them
no more. On my way back, I fell into talk with James Grayden. Born in
England, Lancashire; in this country since he was four years old. Had
nothing to care for but an old mother; didn't know what he should do if
he lost her. Though so long in this country, he had all the simplicity
and childlike lightheartedness which belong to the Old World's people.
He laughed at the smallest pleasantry, and showed his great white English
teeth; he took a joke without retorting by an impertinence; he had a very
limited curiosity about all that was going on; he had small store of
information; he lived chiefly in his horses, it seemed to me. His quiet
animal nature acted as a pleasing anodyne to my recurring fits of
anxiety, and I liked his frequent "'Deed I don't know, sir." better than
I have sometimes relished the large discourse of professors and other
very wise men.
I have not much to say of the road which we were travelling for the
second time. Reaching Middletown, my first call was on the wounded
Colonel and his lady.
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