Middleville escapades had returned--the
ne'er-do-well sought his father's house. He had come home to die. It
was there in Blair's white face--the dreadful truth. He wore a ribbon
on his breast and he leaned on a crutch. For the instant, as father
and son faced each other, there was something in Blair's poise, his
look of an eagle, that carried home a poignant sense of his greatness.
Lane thrilled with it and a lump constricted his throat. Then with
Blair's ringing "Dad!" and the father's deep and broken: "My son! My
son!" the two embraced.

In a stifling moment more it seemed, attention turned on Red Payson,
who stood nearest. Blair's folk were eager, kind, soft-spoken and warm
in their welcome.

Then it came Lane's turn, and what they said or did he scarcely knew,
until Margaret kissed him. "Oh, Dare! I'm _so_ glad to see you home."
Tears were standing in her clear blue eyes. "You're changed,
but--not--not so much as Blair."

Lane responded as best he could, and presently he found himself
standing at the curb, watching the car move away.

"Come out to-morrow," called back Blair.

The Maynard's car was carrying his comrades away. His first feeling
was one of gladness--the next of relief. He could be alone now--alone
to find out what had happened to him, and to this strange Middleville.
An old negro wearing a blue uniform accosted Lane, shook hands with
him, asked him if he had any baggage. "Yas sir, I sho knowed you,
Mistah Dare Lane. But you looks powerful bad."

Lane crossed the station platform, and the railroad yard and tracks,
to make a short cut in the direction of his home. He shrank from
meeting any one. He had not sent word just when he would arrive,
though he had written his mother from New York that it would be soon,
He was glad that no one belonging to him had been at the station. He
wanted to see his mother in his home. Walking fast exhausted him, and
he had to rest. How dead his legs felt! In fact he felt queer all
over. The old burn and gnaw in his breast had expanded to a heavy,
full, suffocating sensation. Yet his blood seemed to race. Suddenly an
overwhelming emotion of rapture flooded over him. Home at last! He did
not think of any one. He was walking across the railroad yards where
as a boy he had been wont to steal rides on freight trains. Soon he
reached the bridge. In the gathering twilight he halted to clutch at
the railing and look out across where the waters met--where Sycamore
Creek f