got on
your spangly dwess, and it makes you pwetty--"

"Oh, Ted, is it just my clothes that make me pretty?"

"I didn't mean that. Only tonight you're so nice and--shining."

She shone, indeed, with such effulgence, that it was a wonder that the
General did not suspect. But he did not, even when she said, "We have
a surprise for you."

"For me, my dear?"

"Yes. A parcel--it came this afternoon. We want you to untie the
string."

"Where is it?" Teddy demanded.

"On the table in the blue room."

Teddy rushed in ahead of the rest, came back and reported, "It's a big
one."

It was a big one, cone-shaped and tied up in brown paper. It was set
on a heavy carved table, a length of tapestry was under it and hid the
legs of the table.

"It looks like a small tree," the General remarked. "But why all this
air of mystery?"

He was plainly bored by the fuss they were making. He was tired, and
he wanted his dinner.

But Jean, in an excited voice, was telling him to cut the string, and
Bronson was handing him a knife.

And then--the paper dropped and everybody was laughing, and Teddy was
screaming wildly and he was staring at the khaki-clad upper half of a
tall young soldier whose silver-blond hair was clipped close, and whose
hand went up in salute.

"It's Cousin Derry. It's Cousin Derry," Teddy was shouting, and
Margaret-Mary piped up, "It's Tousin Dee."

Derry stepped out from behind the table, where leaning forward and
wrapped up he had lent himself to the illusion, and put both hands on
the General's shoulders. "Glad to see me, Dad?"

"Glad; my dear boy--" It was almost too much for him.

Yet as supported by his son's arm, they went a moment later into the
dining room, he had a sense of renewed strength in the youth and vigor
of this youth who was bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. If his own
feet could not march here were feet which would march for him.

There were flowers on the table, most extravagantly, for these war
times, orchids; and there were tall white candles in silver holders.

Jean shining between the candles was a wonder for the world to gaze
upon. Derry couldn't keep his eyes off her. This was no longer a
little nun of the Toy Shop, yet he held the vision of the little nun in
his heart, lest he should forget that she had suffered.

He talked to them all. But beating like a wave against his
consciousness was always the thought of Jean. Of the things he had to
tell her w