seated, and had brought him to Davenport. Then
when he had got by train to the nearest Iowa town,
this stranger had shown him this kindness. . . .
Oh, his mother needn't worry about his being shot
for a deserter. They knew him too well in his
company, if there was any of them left. And had-
n't his chum, Harvey Stow, been home four times
to visit, without permission from anyone, and had
he ever been punished for it? As soon as he had
something to cat, and he could find where to re-
port, he would be going back -- yes, certainly --
going back, however much his mother caught her
breath at the mention of it.

It was so interesting to hear him talk that the
men could scarcely leave for their duties. But
there were the horses to feed, and the cows to milk,
and the kind strange team to reward. Mr. Knight
followed the boys to the barn and watched with
amusement how reverently they rubbed down and
bedded and fed the guests of the stable. And when
they came in again, there sat the scrubbed soldier,
in a fresh hickory shirt and clean jeans, in his
mother's chair, his swathed foot on a stool -- the
stool was Hughie's thought -- and the New York
Tribune in his hand -- the paper was Flora's con-
tribution. He was talking grinningly to his
mother. A white cloth was spread on the table,
and the mother, shining, uplifted with joy, was
wiping pink-banded cups which Wully remem-
bered to have seen taken from the sacred shelf only
when her Scot cousin, who had come to this

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