Aunt Lavina did not know him in his uniform. He made himself known. The
old lady gazed at him searchingly. Her lips worked. She threw her arms
about his neck, laughing and sobbing in the same breath.
"Surely, it's myself," Thompson patted her shoulder. "I'm off to the
front in a few days and I thought I'd better look you up. How's Aunt
Hattie?"
Aunt Lavina disengaged herself from his arms, her glasses askew, her
faded old eyes wet, yet smiling as Thompson could not recall ever seeing
her smile.
"What a spectacle for the neighbors," she said breathlessly. "Me, at my
time of life, hugging and kissing a soldier on the front step. Do come
in, Wesley. Harriet will be so pleased. My dear boy, you don't know how
we have worried about you. How well you look."
She drew him into the parlor. A minute later Aunt Harriet, with less
fervor than her sister perhaps, made it clear that she was unequivocally
glad to see him, that any past rancor for his departure from grace was
dead and buried.
They were beyond the sweeping current of everyday life, living their
days in a back eddy, so to speak. But they were aware of events, of the
common enemy, of the straining effort of war, and they were proud of
their nephew in the King's uniform.
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