so thin
an' miserable lookin', that I feel as if he was only a fairy child."

"Mother, you're talking too loud to your neighbors," he cried out then
in a cheery and familiar voice, for he saw at once the necessity of
removing the very natural constraint indicated by his mother's words;
and there was a sudden cry from the women, Judy flying to the kitchen
while Anne came to his door.

"It's true the walls have ears," she said with a kindly smile. "But you
and I, son, will have to make many's the explanation of that kind before
you are well settled in your old home."

He arose for breakfast with the satisfaction of having enjoyed a perfect
sleep, and with a delightful interest in what the day had in store for
him. Judy bantered and petted him. His mother carried him over difficult
allusions in her speech. The sun looked in on him pleasantly, he took a
sniff of air from a brickish garden, saw the brown walls of the
cathedral not far away, and then went back to bed. A sudden and
overpowering weakness came upon him which made the bed agreeable. Here
he was to receive such friends as would call upon him that day. Anne
Dillon looked somewhat anxious over the ordeal, and his own interest
grew sharper each moment, until the street-door at last opened with
decision, and his mother whispered quickly:

"Louis Everard! Make much of him."

She went out to check the brisk and excited student who wished to enter
with a shout, warning him that the returned wanderer was a sick man.
There was silence for a moment, and then the young fellow appeared in
the doorway.

"Will you have a fit if I come any nearer?" he said roguishly.

In the soft, clear light from the window Arthur saw a slim, manly
figure, a lovable face lighted by keen blue eyes, a white and frank
forehead crowned by light hair, and an expression of face that won him
on the instant. This was his chum, whom he had loved, and trained, and
tyrannized over long ago. For the first time since his sorrow he felt
the inrushing need of love's sympathy, and with tear-dimmed eyes he
mutely held out his arms. Louis flew into the proffered embrace, and
kissed him twice with the ardor of a boy. The affectionate touch of his
lips quite unmanned Arthur, who was silent while the young fellow sat on
the side of the bed with one arm about him, and began to ply him with
questions.

"Tell me first of all," he said, "how you had the heart to do it, to run
away from so many that loved the