"Captain," he called with a quivering voice.

With ears laid back and one cry of joy the dog was on him. The lad
stooped and drew him close. Neither at that moment had any
articulate speech nor needed it. As soon as he was released, the
dog, after several leaps toward his face, was off in despair either
of expressing or of containing his joy, to tell the news at the
house. David laggingly followed.

As he stepped upon the porch, piled against the wall beside the
door were fagots as he used to see them. When he reached the door
itself, he stopped, gazing foolishly at those fagots, at the little
gray lichens on them: he could not knock, he could not turn the
knob without knocking. But his step had been heard. His mother
opened the door and peered curiously out.

"Why, it's Davy!" she cried. "Davy! Davy!"

She dropped her knitting and threw her arms around him.

"David! David!" exclaimed his father, with a glad proud voice
inside. "Why, my son, my son!"

"Ah, he's sick--he's come home sick!" cried the mother, holding him
a little way off to look at his face. "Ah! the poor fellow's sick!
Come in, come in. And this is why we had no letter! And to think
yesterday was Christmas Day! And we had the pies and the turkey!"

"My son, are you unwell--have you been unwell? Sit here, lie here."