But the boys were so used to dismal tales of wholesale devastation that one more or less did not seem greatly to matter.

Perhaps the contrast was the more sharp out here between the smiling landscape and the silent, shut-up house; but the chief fear which beset them was lest their kind aunt should have been taken by death, in which case they scarcely knew what would become of themselves.
They hastened their steps as they entered the familiar lane where nestled the thatched cottage in which their aunt had her abode.
Mary Harmer was their father's youngest and favourite sister.

Once she had made one of the home party on the bridge; but that was long before the boys could remember.

That was in the lifetime of their grandparents, and before the old people resigned their business to the able hands of their son James, and came into the country to live.
The grandfather of Joseph and Benjamin had built this cottage, and he and his wife had lived in it from that time till the day of their death.

Their daughter Mary remained still in the pretty, commodious place--if indeed she had not died during the time of the visitation.