strong, the brave; but the like of him could have no
continuous part, no fixed place in its keen warfare; so for him he felt
that it was better to depart than to hang on a weary, sickly weakling.
Therefore, when Darby and Joan were looking forward to the coming summer
and making their plans for enjoying it, in all of which they included
their little friend, the dwarf would smile--his sweet, childlike
smile--and say nothing. He did not want to cast a shadow upon their
gladness.

The children frequently had letters from their father, for whom they
longed with an eagerness that grew keener as the months went by and
still the cruel warfare continued, and always the date of his return
was put back from time to time. Oh, why did he not come, they cried.
They had so much to tell, so many things to show--lots of precious
trifles given and gathered since he went away.

Slowly the winter seemed to pass, day by day, week after week, month in
month out. Then spring came shyly creeping over the land, with snowdrops
nestling in her breast, primroses and violets budding in the grassy
banks beneath her feet. Later on pink and white blossoms crowned the
orchard trees, balmy breezes gently stirred the opening leaves, azure
skies stretched high overhead, daisies carpeted the ground under foot.
At length it was actually summer--summer in the first flush of her
fresh, untarnished loveliness. And as the children looked out of the
nursery window one bright May morning, they remembered with a sudden
thrill of joy that at last daddy was coming home. Any day he might be
with them--any hour, in fact; for even at that moment the ship might be
lying snug and safe at anchor in Southampton Water!

That very evening he arrived--not Captain, but Major Dene, for he had
been promoted while he was away. Joan flung herself wildly upon her
father, hugging and kissing him with all her might for a minute or two;
then she turned her attentions and her fingers towards his pockets, in
search of whatever spoil she could find. Darby stood silent and shy,
gazing with wide, troubled eyes upon the tall, gaunt man who carried
such a cruel scar across the hollow of his bronzed cheek. Then with a
low, sobbing cry of "Father! father!" the little lad clasped his arms
about his father's neck, and on his father's breast wept out some of the
ache, the loneliness, the longing which for many lagging months had lain
in such a heavy weight upon his tender, faithful, loving hea