ure, the first to welcome
her master home!

Before he let her go, the little dog's coat was wet with more than rain,
but Randy was not ashamed of the tears in his eyes as he faced the
others.

"I've had her from a pup--she's a faithful beast. Hello, there they
come. Gee, Jefferson, but you've grown! You are almost as big as your
name."

Jefferson was the negro boy who drove the horses. There was a great
splashing of red mud as he drew up. The flaps of the surrey closed it
in.

Jefferson's eyes were twinkling beads as he greeted his master. "I sure
is glad to see you, Mr. Randy. Miss Caroline, she say there was another
gemp'mun?"

"He's here--Major Prime. You run in there and look after his bags."

Randy unbuttoned the flaps and gave a gasp of astonishment:

"_Becky_--Becky Bannister!"

In another moment she was out on the platform, and he was holding her
hands, protesting in the meantime, "You'll get wet, my dear----"

"Oh, I want to be rained on, Randy. It's so heavenly to have you home. I
caught Jefferson on the way down. I didn't even wait to get my hat."

[Illustration: "IT'S SO HEAVENLY TO HAVE YOU HOME"]

She did not need a hat. It would have hidden her hair. George Dalton,
watching her from the door, decided that he had never seen such hair,
bronze, parted on the side, with a thick wave across the forehead, it
shaded eyes which were clear wells of light.

She was a little thing with a quality in her youth which made one think
of the year at the spring, of the day at morn, of Botticelli's
Simonetta, of Shelley's lark, of Wordsworth's daffodils, of Keats' Eve
of St. Agnes--of all the lovely radiant things of which the poets of the
world have sung----

Of course Dalton did not think of her in quite that way. He knew
something of Browning and little of Keats, but he had at least the wit
to discern the rareness of her type.

As for the rest, she wore faded blue, which melted into the blue of the
mists, stubbed and shabby russet shoes and an air of absorption in her
returned soldier. This absorption Dalton found himself subconsciously
resenting. Following an instinctive urge, he emerged, therefore, from
his chrysalis of ill-temper, and smiled upon a transformed universe.

"My raincoat, Kemp," he said, and strode forth across the platform, a
creature as shining and splendid as ever trod its boards.

Becky, beholding him, asked, "Is that Major Prime?"

"No, thank Heaven."

Jefferson, steering the