"I--I don't dar'st to go," said Mrs. Holmes, clutching wildly at the
boy, still sobbing, still beyond control of herself.

"But Mrs. Thornton is going," said Madison gently, "and I know your
gratitude is no less than hers--it couldn't be less with this little lad
restored to you. I am sure you want to show it--don't you?"

"I think we'd orter go, ma," said Mr. Holmes uneasily.

The boy put his hand in Madison's.

"I want to go, mister," he choked. "Take me, mister, won't you?"

"Yes, I think we'd orter go," repeated Mr. Holmes. "Come along, ma," he
said, taking his wife's arm.

It was a strange group--the Thorntons, rich, refined, to whom luxury was
necessity; the Holmes, poor, uncultured, coarsely dressed; and Madison,
who walked with set face, head lowered a little, his pace slowing
perceptibly, humbly it seemed, the nearer he came to the cottage door.
Neither Thornton, nor Holmes, nor Holmes' wife spoke. Mrs. Thornton's
arm was flung around the boy's shoulder, and he kept looking up into her
tearful face--there was a bond between them that, young as he was, held
him in its thrall. Out across the lawn, dotted here and there, in knots
and groups and little crowds, men and women stopped where they stood and
watched, making no effort to follow--and some, at the renewed evidence
of the miraculous, once more so vividly before their eyes, dropped again
to their knees.

They reached the door, and Madison drew back a little and with the