rvants in the back of the house.

Derry, going up the stairs, two steps at a time, stopped on the landing
with head uncovered to greet his mother.

Oh, lovely painted lady, is this the little white-faced lad you loved,
the big bronzed man, fresh from hardships, strong in the sense of the
thing he has to do?

No promise made to you could hold him now. He has weighed your small
demands is the balance with the world's great need.

He did not tarry long. Straight as an eagle to its mate, he swept
through the hall and knocked at the door of Jean's room. There was no
response. He knocked again, turned the handle, entered, and found the
room empty. The tin soldier on the shelf shouted, "Welcome,
welcome--comrade," but Derry had no ears to hear. Everywhere were
signs of Jean; her fat memory book open on her desk, the ivory and gold
appointments of her dressing table, her pink slippers, her prayer
book--his own picture with flowers in front of it as before a shrine.

"My dear, my darling," his heart said when he saw that. What, after
all, was he that she should worship him?

Impatient, he rang for Bronson, and the old man came--bewildered,
hurried, joyful. "It's a great surprise, sir, but it's good to see
you."

"It's good to see you, Bronson. Where's Miss Jean?"

"At Miss Emily's shop, sir."

"As late as this?"

"Sometimes later. She tries to get home in time for dinner."

"Where's Dad?"

"Driving with the children, and the ladies are out on war work."

A year ago women had played bridge at this hour in the afternoon, but
there was no playing now.

"Don't tell Dad that I am here. I'll come back presently with Mrs.
Drake."

And now down the hall came an old gray dog, wild with delight,
outracing Polly Ann, who thought it was a play and leaped after
him--Muffin had found his master!

But Derry left Muffin, left Bronson, left Polly Ana, a wistful trio at
the front door. He must find Jean!

The day was darkening, and a light burned far back on the Toy Shop.
Derry, standing outside, saw a room which was the very wraith of the
gay little shop as he had left it--with its white tables, its long
counters piled high with finished dressings; the white elephants in a
spectral row behind glass doors on the top shelf the only reminder of
what it once had been.

He saw, too, a small nun-like figure behind the counter, a figure all
in white, with a white veil banded about her forehead and flowing down
behin