her shoulder; her arm went round his neck and patted his cheek, and his
full heart was emptied.

There was so much of the little boy about him!

VIII

The fierce gust of emotion which swept Don Mike Farrel was of brief
duration. He was too sane, too courageous to permit his grief to
overwhelm him completely; he had the usual masculine horror of an
exhibition of weakness, and although the girl's sweet sympathy and
genuine womanly tenderness had caught him unawares, he was,
nevertheless, not insensible of the incongruity of a grown man weeping
like a child on the shoulder of a young woman--and a strange young
woman at that. With a supreme effort of will, he regained control of
himself as swiftly as he had lost it, and began fumbling for a
handkerchief.

"Here," she murmured; "use mine." She reached up and, with her dainty
wisp of handkerchief, wiped his wet cheeks exactly as if he had been a
child.

He caught the hand that wielded the handkerchief and kissed it
gratefully, reverently.

"God bless your dear, kind heart!" he murmured. "I had thought nobody
could possibly care--that much. So few people--have any interest in
the--unhappiness of others." He essayed a twisted smile. "I'm not
usually this weak," he continued, apologetically. "I never knew until
to-night that I could be such a lubberly big baby, but, then, I wasn't
set for this blow. This afternoon, life executed an about face for
me--and the dogs got me started after I'd promised myself--" He
choked again on the last word.

She patted his shoulder in comradely fashion.

"Buck up, Don Mike!" she pleaded. "Tears from such men as you are
signs of strength, not weakness. And remember--life has a habit of
obeying commanding men. It may execute another about face for you."

"I've lost everything that made life livable," he protested.

"Ah! No, no! You must not say that. Think of that cheerful warrior
who, in defeat, remarked, 'All is lost save honor.'" And she touched
the pale-blue star-sprinkled ribbon on his left breast.

He smiled again, the twisted smile.

"That doesn't amount to a row of pins in civil life." Something of
that sense of bitter disillusionment, of blasted idealism, which is the
immediate aftermath of war, had crept into his voice. "The only thrill
I ever got out of its possession was in the service. My colonel was
never content merely with returning my salute. He always uncovered to
me. That ribbon will h