Page:War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy, John Luther Long, 1913.djvu/353

THE PITY OF IT so few left behind that enthusiasm was impossible.

It was good to see and then to reach the peaceful battered old place again, and to put my face under the pump-spout while John and Simon pumped. Even though the farm looked like a ruin! It had not been long, but the cattle and horses had been taken, and if I hadn't arranged to have the old Jerry-horse I rode in the army, sent home to me, I wouldn't have had anything to pull the plow—even though there was little enough to plow.

And, worst of all, Evelyn was gone—Betsy didn't know where—just disappeared—like Dave. Well, I didn't know the old house was so big, nor could be so lonely. Everybody was gone, there seemed nobody about even the neighborhood. I sat out there on the porch, where I could see some one going by, now and then, nearly always.

The land hadn't been farmed since I went away. No crops were in and it was too late to put any in. Anyhow, what could I do—with 337