Going home after a long absence is a little like what one might imagine of a resurrection from the dead.  There is exceeding joy, but mingled with it is much of the damp and chill of the tomb.  Indeed, going home after a long absence “causes all the burial places of memory to give up their dead,” and through all the joy there is an undertone of sorrow, for all the reminders are of the fact that the calmest lives are speedily sweeping on; that there is no halting in the swift transit between birth and death.

Three days passed, and notwithstanding the enjoyment, Sedgwick found that there was a good deal of trouble worrying the family.  The old mortgage of $5,000 was not paid; rather, it had been doubled to make a first payment on a 200-acre farm adjoining, and with fitting up and stocking the old place, and with bad crops, the debts amounted altogether to more than $20,000.  He did not tell any one of his good fortune.  He was dressed in a plain business suit, without a single ornament.  The watch he carried for convenience was merely a cheap silver watch.

On the fourth day, Browning said to his friend:  “Jim, old pard, I must be off to-morrow.  You have had a good visit.  Come over to England with me for a month, and help me through with—­Rose and the old man.”

“Agreed, Jack,” said Sedgwick.  “I want to fix up some little things here, and I do not want to be around when the fixing shall be understood.  It will be a good excuse to get away.”

Then going to a desk, he wrote a few words, took a bill of exchange for $100,000 from his pocketbook, endorsed it, making it payable to his father, folded the bill inside the letter, sealed it and directed it to his father; then putting the letter in his pocket, said, “That will make it all right.”

At supper that evening he informed the family that he was going on the early train with his friend and might be gone a month or six weeks, after which he believed he would return, settle down and become steady.  All tried to dissuade him, but Browning helped him, telling the family he needed his friend’s help on serious business; and so that night the kindling was put in the kitchen stove, the dough for biscuits for breakfast was set, the tea-kettle filled, the chickens fixed for frying, and the coffee ground.

It was but a little after daylight next morning when, the breakfast over, they were ready to start.  They shook hands all round, and when it came to saying good-bye to his father, Sedgwick drew out the letter, and giving it to the old man, said:  “Father, when you hear the train pull out of the village, open that letter.  It contains a little keepsake for you which I picked up by a scratch in Nevada.”  And they were off.