He had finished his dinner and pushed aside the tray. He wondered where Julian was—whether he had got his letter and whether he would care—a little.... It was ten days now since he sent the letter—just before the doctor told him ... that was the day Aunt Jane took charge of his case.

He smiled a little, thinking of Aunt Jane and her ways.... Since she took him in hand, he had eaten and breathed and slept only as she permitted.... But, after all, it was a relief to get rid of thinking and do what one was told—like a boy.... He wished his own boy were here—to play with.... He found his imagination always coming back to Julian. He had hardly thought of the boy before as an individual; he had been a responsibility—some one to be kept out of scrapes—and, in a vague way, he was the successor to the Medfield fortune and business.... Now he wondered what the boy was really like.... Two years might have changed him—body and soul almost.

He closed his eyes a little wearily, and rested back against the pillows. The room was quiet and filled with sunshine. He felt suddenly at home in it—as he had never felt at home in his own house across the town.... The rooms were very lonely there.... He rested quietly.

A knock came on the door—perhaps the nurse for the tray. He did not turn his head or open his eyes. He was resting in the quiet.

A light step crossed the room and stopped—and presently Herman Medfield looked up.

The boy was smiling down at him. "Hallo, Father!"

He put up a swift hand to brush the vision away.

And the boy took it, and bent down and kissed him, almost shyly.

Then Herman Medfield reached out both hands. "Why—Julian! I was thinking about you!" He threw his arms around him hungrily. "I was wishing you would come!"

"Were you?" The young man laughed happily and drew up a chair to the bed. "I'm just in time, then."

He sat looking at his father; and it came to Herman Medfield that the boy was fond of him. There was a look in the clear eyes of affection and pride.

He gazed at it. "You didn't get my letter?"

"Which? The one with the check for three thousand?"

"The one telling you I was—here."

The boy shook his head. "I got Ballantine's cable, and took the next boat."

"I didn't know Ballantine cabled," said Medfield thoughtfully.

"It came ten days ago—the thirtieth, wasn't it—just as I was starting for Norway. I'm pretty glad it didn't miss me!"—They sat quiet a minute. Then the boy looked at him. "You're looking fine, sir!"

"I'm all right! Doing splendidly!"

He felt suddenly that he could let his pains go. The house across the town was not so empty, after all. He had a sudden vision of Julian running up the long stairs—two at a time—and he looked at him happily.

The boy leaned forward. His eye fell on the black-edged card; he looked at it and smiled and half reached out a hand, incredulous.

"How is—" He hesitated. He had always been afraid of his father. But the man on the pillows was, somehow, a different sort of father; he leaned forward with a swift twinkle at the card.

"How is the—widow?" he asked.

"Very well, I suppose," said Medfield. "It is some time since I saw her." He spoke a little formally. But his heart leaped at the touch of comradeship.

"How about this?" said Julian. He touched the black-edged card.

Herman Medfield's face flushed—almost guiltily. "Flowers," he said.

"I say!" The boy whistled softly. Then he laughed. "I say!" He put down the card and looked at it.

"Three boxes!" acknowledged Medfield.

The boy held out his hand. "Would you mind shaking hands, sir?"

Herman Medfield took the hand, laughing a little, and his eyes filled with quiet pride and happiness. "I am glad you've come home, Julian."

"Looks to me about time!" said the youth. He glanced again at the card and chuckled.

Then he stood up.

It was Miss Canfield for the tray.

She came around to the other side of the bed; and Herman Medfield looked up at her—and glanced from her to his boy.

"This is my son, Julian, Miss Canfield." He was watching the two faces that confronted each other across the bed.

The young man's had lighted with a little look of admiration.

He held out his hand across the bed. "It's a long-distance introduction, isn't it?"

The girl took the hand quietly. "How do you do, Mr. Herman," she said pleasantly.

"I'm glad to meet you," said Julian out of a puzzled look; and the two hands fell apart.

Herman Medfield flashed a twinkle at her. "His name is not Herman," he remarked dryly. "Nor mine," he added after a minute. "'Herman' is for the hospital— Aunt Jane invented it."

"I see." The girl held it. "I wondered a little——"

"Don't let anybody else wonder," said Medfield. "I want to get rid of myself—for a while."

The young man smiled whimsically. "Where do I come in, sir?"

"You stay where you are," said his father tolerantly. "You're well enough as it is—if you behave!" He was looking with satisfaction from his son to the young girl. She had turned to the tray and her fingers were busy with the dishes.

"She takes good care of me," said Medfield, with a little gesture toward the competent fingers.

"I don't doubt it, sir.... I might almost say I wouldn't mind being ill—myself!" A kind of shyness in the words redeemed them and the girl smiled.

"People who are not ill, generally think they wouldn't mind," she said quietly.

She lifted the tray and set it aside.

"I'll take out your pillows now. It's time for you to rest." She removed the pillows and shook them a little and placed the fresh one beneath his head and straightened the clothes for him, with her firm, competent, comfortable hands.

The boy's eyes followed the white figure as it left the room, carrying the tray lightly. They came back to his father's face.

"I think I've had my orders," he said laughingly. "I'm to go now, I understand. I'll be back by and by, sir—when you are 'rested.'" He hesitated a minute. Then he bent down and kissed his father, almost shyly, and left the room.

The door closed behind him and Herman Medfield fell asleep and dreamed—"as if he really cared," thought Herman Medfield, as he drifted away into sleep.