In the five years of his absence he had grown quite tall for his age,
with a certain dignity and self-possession of bearing acquired from
becoming accustomed to depend upon himself. All that was left of the
nut-brown curls that used to flow over his shoulders were the clustering
ringlets that covered his head and framed his large brow. His absence
had also wrought in him other and more subtle changes which did not
appear to the friends who remarked upon what a great boy he had grown--a
maturity from having lived in another world--from having had his
thoughts expanded by new scenes and quickened by the suggestions of
historic association and surroundings.

But with his return, England and Stoke-Newington sank into the
shadowy past--their spell weakened, for the time being, by the
thought-absorbing, heart-filling scenes of which he had now become a
part. The years at the Manor House School were as a dream--_this_ was
the real thing--_this_ was Home. _Home_--ah, the charm of that word and
all it implied! His heart swelled, his eyes grew misty as he said it
over and over to himself. The clatter of drays "down town" was like
music in his ears, the dusty streets of the residential section were
fair to his eyes for old time's sake. How he loved the very pavement
under his feet, rough and uneven as it was; how dearly he loved the
trees that he had climbed (and would climb again) which stretched their
friendly boughs over his head!

In a state of happy excitement he rushed about town, visiting his old
haunts to see if they were still there, and "the same."

"Comrade," his brown spaniel--his favorite of all his pets--had grown
old and sober and had quite forgotten him, but his love was soon