old Mr. Clifford gathered them around the family altar in a thanksgiving
prayer that moistened every eye.

Then all prepared for the rest so sorely needed. As Webb went to the hall
to hang up his gun, Amy saw that he staggered in his almost mortal
weariness, and she followed him.

"There are your colors, Amy," he said, laughingly, taking her scarf from
an inner pocket. "I wore it till an envious scrub-oak tore it off. It was
of very great help to me--the scarf, not the oak."

"Webb," she said, earnestly, "you can't disguise the truth from me by any
such light words. You are half-dead from exhaustion. I've been watching
you ever since your return. You are ill--you have gone beyond your
strength, and in addition to it all I let you carry me in. Oh dear! I'm
so worried about you!"

"It's wonderfully nice to have a little sister to worry about a fellow."

"But can't I do something for you? You've thought about everybody, and no
one thinks for you."

"_You_ have, and so have the rest, as far as there was occasion. Let me
tell you how wan and weary you look. Oh, Amy, our home is so much more to
us since you came!"

"What would our home be to us to-night, Webb, were it not for you! And I
said you took Burt's danger too coolly. How I have reproached myself for
those words. God bless you, Webb! you did not resent them; and you saved
Burt;" and she impulsively put her arm around his neck and kissed him,