"Daddy!" called the owner of the eyes.

There was no answer.

"Father, are you there?" called the voice, more insistently.

From one of the bunks came a slight stir and a murmured word. At
the sound the boy at the door leaped softly into the room and
hurried to the bunk in the corner. He was a slender lad with
short, crisp curls at his ears, and the red of perfect health in
his cheeks. His hands, slim, long, and with tapering fingers like
a girl's, reached forward eagerly.

"Daddy, come! I've done the bacon all myself, and the potatoes
and the coffee, too. Quick, it's all getting cold!"

Slowly, with the aid of the boy's firm hands, the man pulled
himself half to a sitting posture. His cheeks, like the boy's,
were red--but not with health. His eyes were a little wild, but
his voice was low and very tender, like a caress.

"David--it's my little son David!"

"Of course it's David! Who else should it be?" laughed the boy.
"Come!" And he tugged at the man's hands.

The man rose then, unsteadily, and by sheer will forced himself
to stand upright. The wild look left his eyes, and the flush his
cheeks. His face looked suddenly old and haggard. Yet with fairly