And the same glad song was in his heart when he opened his uncle's door after he had swallowed his coffee--Jemima had it ready for him this time--and thrusting in his head cried out: “We are going to get you out of here, Uncle George!” This with a laugh--one of his old contagious laughs that was music in the sick man's ears. “When?” asked the invalid, his face radiant. He had been awake an hour wondering what it all meant. He had even thought of calling to Jemima to reassure himself that it was not a dream, until he heard her over her tubs and refrained from disturbing her. “Oh, pretty soon! I have just come from Pawson's. Fogbin hasn't put in an appearance and there's nobody in the rooms and hasn't been anybody there since you left. He can't understand it, nor can I--and I don't want to. I have ordered the bed made and a fire started in both the chamber and the old dining-room, and if anybody objects he has got to say so to me, and I am a very uncomfortable person to say some kinds of things to nowadays. So up you get when the time comes; and Todd and Jemima are to go too. I've got money enough, anyhow, to begin on. Aunt Jemima says you had a good night and it won't be long now before you are yourself again.” The radiant smile on the sick man's face blossomed into a laugh: “Yes--the best night that I have had since I was taken ill, and--Where did you sleep, my son?” “Me!--Oh, I had a fine time--long, well-ventilated room with two windows and private staircase; nice pine bedstead--very comfortable place for this part of the town.” St. George looked at him and his eyes filled. His mind was neither on his own questions nor on Harry's answers. “Get a chair, Harry, and sit by me so I can look at you closer. How fine and strong you are my son--not like your father--you're like your mother. And you've broadened out--mentally as well as physically. Pretty hard I tell you to spoil a gentleman--more difficult still to spoil a Rutter. But you must get that beard off--it isn't becoming to you, and then somebody might think you disguised yourself on purpose. I didn't know you at first, neither did Jemima--and you don't want anybody else to make that kind of a mistake.” “My father did, yesterday--” Harry rejoined quietly, dropping into Jemima's chair. St. George half raised himself from his bed: “You have seen him?” “Yes--and I wish I hadn't. But I hunted everywhere for you and then got a horse and rode out home. He didn't know me--that is, I'm pretty sure he didn't--but he cursed me all the same. My mother and old Alec, I hope, will come in to-day--but father's chapter is closed forever. I have been a fool to hope for anything else.” “Drove you out! Oh, no--NO! Harry! Impossible!” “But he did--” and then followed an account of all the wanderer had passed through from the time he had set foot on shore to the moment of meeting Todd and himself.