found Todd a few
minutes ago by the merest accident, and he brought me here. No, you must
lie down--let me help--rest yourself on me--so." He was as tender with
him as if he had been his own mother.

The sick man shook himself free--he was stronger than Harry thought. He
was convinced now that there was some trick being played upon him--one
Jemima in her anxiety had devised.

"How dare you, sir, lie to me like that! Who asked you to come here?
Todd--send this fellow from the room!"

Harry drew back out of his uncle's vision and carefully watched the
invalid. St. George's mind was evidently unhinged and it would be better
not to thwart him.

Todd crept up. He had seen his master like this once before and had had
all he could do to keep him in bed.

"Dat ain't no doctor, Marse George," he pleaded, his voice trembling.
"Dat's Marse Harry come back agin alive. It's de hair on his face make
him look dat way; dat fool me too. It's Marse Harry, fo' sho'--I fotch
him yere myse'f. He's jes' come from de big ship."

St. George twisted his head, looked long and earnestly into Harry's
face, and with a sudden cry of joy stretched out his hand and motioned
him nearer. Harry sank to his knees beside the bed. St. George curved
one arm about his neck, drew him tightly to his breast as he would a
woman, and fell back upon the pillow with Harry's head next his own.
There the two lay still, St. George's eyes half closed, thick sobs
stifling his utterance, the tears streaming down his pale cheeks; his
thin white fingers caressing the brown hair of the boy he loved. At
last, with a heavy, indrawn sigh, not of grief, but of joy, he muttered:

"It's true, isn't it, my son?"

Harry hugged him the tighter in answer.

"And you are home for good?"

Again the pressure. "Yes, but don't talk, you must go to sleep. I won't
leave you." His own tears were choking him now.

Then, after a long pause, releasing his grasp: "I did not know how weak
I was.... Maybe I had better not talk.... Don't stay. Come to-morrow and
tell me about it.... There is no bed for you here... I am sorry ... but
you must go away--you couldn't be comfortable.... Todd--"

The darky started forward--both he and Aunt Jemima were crying:

"Yes, Marse George."

"Take the lamp and light Mr. Rutter downstairs. To-morrow--to-morrow,
Harry.... My God--think of it!--Harry home! Harry home! My Harry home!"
and he turned his face to the wall.

On the way back--first to the