said the man, and shook his head--"No, not this time." So the boy
went on; there were several miles of this Highway, and each block of
it the same.

At last, in a dingy bar-room, with saw-dust strewn upon the floor,
and the odor of stale beer and tobacco-smoke in the air--here
suddenly the boy sprang forward, with a cry: "Father!" And a man who
sat with bowed head in a corner gave a start, and lifted a white
face and stared at him. He rose unsteadily to his feet, and
staggered to the other, and fell upon his shoulder, sobbing, "My
son! My son!"

How many times had Thyrsis heard those words--in how many hours of
anguish! They sank into the deeps of him, waking echoes like the
clang of a bell: they voiced all the terror and grief of defeated
life--"My son! My son!"

The man clung to him, weeping, and pouring out the flood of his
shame. "I have fallen again--I am lost--I am lost!"

The occupants of the place were watching the scene with dull
curiosity; and the boy was trembling like a wild deer trapped.

"Yes, father, yes! Let us go home."

"Home--home, my son? Will you take me home? Oh, I couldn't bear to
go!"

"But you must come home."