striking face, given a slightly foreign air by a small mustache.

He walked straight up to the old man, laid his hand on his shoulder,
"Hello, Dad." Then, anxiously, to the two women, "I hope he hasn't
troubled you. He isn't quite--himself."

Jean nodded. "I am so glad you came. We didn't know what to do."

"I've been looking for him--" He bent to pick up the broken cup. "I'm
dreadfully sorry. You must let me pay for it."

"Oh, no."

"Please." He was looking at it. "It was valuable?"

"Yes," Jean admitted, "it was one of Emily's precious pets."

"Please don't think any more about it," Emily begged. "You had better
get your father home at once, and put him to bed with a hot water
bottle."

Now that the shabby youth was looking at her with troubled eyes, Emily
found herself softening towards the old gentleman. Simply as a
derelict she had not cared what became of him. But as the father of
this son, she cared.

"Thank you, I will. We must be going, Dad."

The old gentleman stood up. "Wait a minute--I came for tin
soldiers--Derry--"