the right and the gable-roofed barn on the left; all were there;
nothing was changed but himself.

Mechanically he followed 'Lena into the yard, half expecting to see
bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made cloth, which he
remembered had lain there when he went away. One thing alone seemed
strange. The blue paper curtains were rolled away from the "spare
room" windows, which were open as if to admit as much air as possible.

"I shouldn't wonder if grandpa was worse," said 'Lena, hurrying him
along and ushering him at once into the sick-room.

At first Mrs. Nichols did not observe him, for she was bending
tenderly over the white, wrinkled face, which lay upon the small,
scanty pillow. John thought "how small and scanty they were," while
he almost shuddered at the sound of his footsteps upon the uncarpeted
floor. Everything was dreary and comfortless, and his conscience
reproached him that his old father should die so poor, when he
counted his money by thousands.

As he passed the window his tall figure obscured the fading daylight,
causing his mother to raise her head, and in a moment her long, bony
arms were twined around his neck. The cruel letter, his long
neglect, were all forgotten in the joy of once more beholding her
"darling boy," whose bearded cheek she kissed again and again. John
was unused to such demonstrations of affection, except, indeed, from
his little golden-haired Anna, who was _refined_ and _polished_, and
all that, which made a vast difference, as he thought. Still, he
returned his mother's greeting with a tolerably good grace, managing,
however, to tear himself from her as soon as possible.