had set in. He was alive and at home; his
Uncle George was where he could get his hands on him--in a minute--by
the mounting of the stairs; and Alec and his mother within reach!

And the same glad song was in his heart when he opened his uncle's door
after he had swallowed his coffee--Jemima had it ready for him this
time--and thrusting in his head cried out:

"We are going to get you out of here, Uncle George!" This with a
laugh--one of his old contagious laughs that was music in the sick man's
ears.

"When?" asked the invalid, his face radiant. He had been awake an hour
wondering what it all meant. He had even thought of calling to Jemima
to reassure himself that it was not a dream, until he heard her over her
tubs and refrained from disturbing her.

"Oh, pretty soon! I have just come from Pawson's. Fogbin hasn't put in
an appearance and there's nobody in the rooms and hasn't been anybody
there since you left. He can't understand it, nor can I--and I don't
want to. I have ordered the bed made and a fire started in both the
chamber and the old dining-room, and if anybody objects he has got to
say so to me, and I am a very uncomfortable person to say some kinds
of things to nowadays. So up you get when the time comes; and Todd and
Jemima are to go too. I've got money enough, anyhow, to begin on. Aunt
Jemima says you had a good night and it won't be long now before you are
yourself again."

The radiant smile on the sick man's face blossomed into a laugh:
"Yes--the best night that I have had since I was taken ill, and--Where
did you sleep, my son?"

"Me!--Oh, I had a fine time--long, well-ventilated room with two windows
and private staircase; nice pine bedstead--very comfortable place for
this part of the town."

St. George looked at him and his eyes filled. His mind was neither on
his own questions nor on Harry's answers.

"Get a chair, Harry, and sit by me so I can look at you closer. How
fine and strong you are my son--not like your father--you're like your
mother. And you've broadened out--mentally as well as physically. Pretty
hard I tell you to spoil a gentleman--more difficult still to spoil a
Rutter. But you must get that beard off--it isn't becoming to you, and
then somebody might think you disguised yourself on purpose. I didn't
know you at first, neither did Jemima--and you don't want anybody else
to make that kind of a mistake."

"My father did, yesterday--" Harry rejoined quietly, dropping into