his features were regular, and the blue eyes, filled at first with a curious kind of concern at that absorbed, bowed figure of a man leaning against the desk, sparkled with joy at his first glance of recognition.
"Junior!" George Judson shouted. "Junior! My boy, my boy!" and flung out his arms.
"Dad-dee!" the small soldier cried and leaped into his father's embrace, "Dad-dee-e-e!"
"Where on earth did you come from?" George asked when he could get his breath.
"Home!" and the youngster, now in his father's lap, kicked his heels and smiled with an amazing air of satisfaction.
"What home?" demanded George Judson frantically.
"Our home—that we always lived in till we went away."
"But how did you get there?"
"Mother brought me."
"Your mother? She is there?"
Junior hesitated a moment. "Yes, Daddy. She sent me to fetch you."
The child was talking with an English accent; but George Judson could not resent that now. It sounded utterly charming.
"To bring me?" he almost screamed. "Let's go!"
He sprang for his hat and offered a hand to the boy. With a shout of glee Junior fastened
