l as he loved
and longed for it now. There had been times when he referred to it as
"the old jail," and professed to hate it. But it had been the only real
home he had known since he was eight years old and now he looked back
upon it as a fallen angel might have looked back upon Paradise. He
sighed again, choked and hastily drew his gloved hand across his eyes.
At the age of seventeen it is very unmanly to cry, but, at that age
also, manhood and boyhood are closely intermingled. He choked again
and then, squaring his shoulders, reached into his coat pocket for the
silver cigarette case which, as a recent acquisition, was the pride of
his soul. He had just succeeded in lighting a cigarette when, borne upon
the wind, he heard once more the sound of hoofs and wheels and saw in
the distance a speck of light advancing toward the station.

The sounds drew nearer, so did the light. Then an old-fashioned buggy,
drawn by a plump little sorrel, pulled up by the platform and a hand
held a lantern aloft.

"Hello!" hailed a voice. "Where are you?"

The hail did not have to be repeated. Before the vehicle reached the
station the boy had tossed away the cigarette, picked up the suitcase,
and was waiting. Now he strode into the lantern light.

"Here I am," he answered, trying hard not to appear too eager. "Were you
looking for me?"

The holder of the lantern tucked the reins between the whip-socket and
the dash and climbed out of the buggy. He was a little man, perhaps
about forty-eight or fifty, with a smooth-shaven face wrinkled at the
corners of the mouth and eyes. His voice was the most curious thing
about him; it was high and piping, more like a woman's than a man's. Yet
his words and manner were masculine enough, and he moved and spoke with
a nervous, jerky quickness.

He answered the question promptly. "Guess I be, guess I be," he said
briskly. "Anyhow, I'm lookin' for a boy name of--name of--My soul to
heavens, I've forgot it again, I do believe! What did you say your name
was?"

"Speranza. Albert Speranza."

"Sartin, sartin! Sper--er--um--yes, yes. Knew it just as well as I did
my own. Well, well, well! Ye-es, yes, yes. Get right aboard, Alfred. Let
me take your satchel."

He picked up the suitcase. The boy, his foot upon the buggy step, still
hesitated. "Then you're--you're not my grandfather?" he faltered.

"Eh? Who? Your grandfather? Me? He, he, he!" He chuckled shrilly. "No,
no! No such luck. If I was Cap'n Lo