ared his aching throat with a loud "_Harrumph!_" He
dashed the tears from his eyes with the heel of one harsh palm, then
leveled a defiant glare over her head, directed at anyone who might be
looking on at his weakness. It was a blurry glare, however, and not
nearly so ferocious as he intended it to be. After several efforts he
managed to regain control of his vocal powers.

"Well, son!" he cried, huskily; then, "_Harrumph_!"

Barbara's clutch tightened appreciatively. "Such a long, long time!"
Still with her cheek pressed close against him, she ran a small gloved
hand into the pocket of his coat and brought forth a bandana
handkerchief which she thrust into his palm, saying: "It's a good thing
I'm home, for you've caught another cold, haven't you? Now blow your
nose."

Barbara was anything but boyish to look at; quite the opposite, in
fact. She was delightfully feminine from the crown of her smart little
traveling hat to her dainty French heels, and although her suit was not
expensive, it was worn with an air and was perhaps as fetching as any
that had ever come to Wichita Falls. It gave the impression of
perfectly setting off a figure and a personality that required no
setting off. She had the Parker eyes of quenchless blue.

"Well, son, there's a boom on and the town has grown some; but I guess
things here are about the same as when you left 'em." Tom spoke with
pride and satisfaction as he paid the driver, took Barbara's suitcase,
and opened the gate for her.

The girl turned from her first long, appraising gaze at the modest
home. No change, indeed! The paint on the house was peeling, gutters
had rusted out, some of the porch flooring had rotted through, the yard
was an unkempt tangle of matted grass and weeds and neglected
shrubbery. The sight of it was like a stab to her, for she remembered
the place as it had been, and the shock was akin to that of seeing a
loved one in the garb of a tramp. But she smiled up at the gray face
above her--Tom, too, was as seedy as the premises--and she nodded.

"It hasn't changed a mite," she said, bravely.

A moment later she paused upon the threshold, tense, thrilled,
apparently speechless. Tom was reminded of a trim little wren poised
upon the edge of its nest. This time it was more difficult to
counterfeit an exclamation of joy, but the catch in "Bob's" voice, the
moisture in her eyes, was attributed by her father to gladness at the
sight of old familiar things. This wa