and with everybody else went the Senator.
Slowly he got dusty, ragged,
long of hair. He looked tortured and
ever-restless. You never saw him still;
always he swept by you, flapping his
legs on his lean horse or his arms in
his rickety buggy here, there, everywhere--
turning, twisting, fighting his
way back to freedom--and not a murmur.
Still was every man his brother,
and if some forgot his once open hand,
he forgot it no more completely than
did the Senator. He went very far to
pay his debts. He felt honor bound,
indeed, to ask his sister to give back
the farm that he had given her, which,
very properly people said, she declined
to do. Nothing could kill hope in the
Senator's breast; he would hand back
the farm in another year, he said; but
the sister was firm, and without a word
still, the Senator went other ways and
schemed through the nights, and worked
and rode and walked and traded
through the days, until now, when the
light was beginning to glimmer, his
end was come.

This was the Senator's last trade, and
in sight, down in a Kentucky valley,