Mr. C---- had moved from Leavenworth to Johnson County, twenty-five
miles away, and as there were neither telegraph nor mail facilities,
he had the body sent home, himself accompanying it. Thus our first
knowledge of Martha's sickness came when her lifeless clay was borne
across our threshold, the threshold that, less than a year before, she
had crossed a bright and bonny bride. Dazed by the shock, we longed
for Will's return before we must lay his idolized sister forever in her
narrow cell.

All of the family, Mr. C---- included, were gathered in the
sitting-room, sad and silent, when Turk suddenly raised his head,
listened a second, and bounded out of doors.

"Will is coming!" cried mother, and we all ran to the door. Turk was
racing up the long hill, at the top of which was a moving speck that the
dog knew to be his master. His keen ears had caught the familiar whistle
half a mile away.

When Turk had manifested his joy at the meeting, he prepared Will for
the bereavement that awaited him; he put his head down and emitted a
long and repeated wail. Will's first thought was for mother, and he
fairly ran down the hill. The girls met him some distance from the
house, and sobbed out the sad news.

And when he had listened, the lad that had passed unflinching through
two Indian fights, broke down, and sobbed with the rest of us.

"Did that rascal, C----, have anything to do with her death?" he asked,
when the first passion of grief was over.