l kind, growing
luxuriantly.

He was ushered at once into a pleasant room, made bright, in spite of
its extremely simple furnishing, by white dimity curtains and home-made
mats, the bed in the corner looking white as snow; and, left to himself,
the boy luxuriated in a comfortable wash, though in place of ewer and
basin he had but a bucket and tub.

Before he had finished, his mother was back with a cup of refreshing
tea, this time with cream.

"You'll find everything very rough, my son; but every time the waggon
goes on its journey to the port it brings back same more domestic
comforts."

"Never mind the roughness, mother," cried Nic, kissing her, and bringing
a smile of joy playing about her lips; "it's home, and I'm along with
you all again."

"Yes, my son; and I can be quite happy now," said Mrs Braydon, clinging
to him fondly. "There, drink your tea," she said quickly, "finish
dressing, and there's a brush by the window, and I've brought you my
glass. How brown and blistered your poor face is!"

"Oh, that's nothing, mother," cried Nic. "Hah! delicious!" he sighed,
as he finished the tea, making his mother smile her satisfaction.

"Be quick. We have a tea-dinner ready, for we felt that you might come
at any time. You will not have to come downstairs, dear; we are all on
one floor. We only had one room and the waggon and a tent first; but
others have been added, one at a time. I ought to go now, but it is so
hard to leave you, my dear."

She kissed him lovingly again--they were the first kisses she had
pressed upon his lips for over five years--and then she hurried out.

"Hah!" sighed Nic; "I wish I knew that father was safe." Then, stiff
and with his hand trembling from his long ride, he took up the comb to
smooth his hair.

"Might as well sit down," he said; and he sank back on the bed. "How
soft! Feathers! And the pillow--how cool! Cheeks burn so," he
muttered, as he subsided on the restful couch to gaze sidewise at the
window with its little sill and flowers growing in a box, all fresh,
bright and fragrant.

"I like flowers," he said softly, and then--"Hah!"

He was breathing softly.

The bow strained tightly for so many hours was now unstrung. Every
nerve and muscle were relaxed, and the soft, pure air which came through
the open window played upon his scorched cheeks.

The horse was swinging along in that easy canter out of the burning
sunshine into the shade--a soft, cool, delici