A light broke over the old man's face, and he stretched out his arms with a great cry that filled the room as his head fell forward on his grandson's breast. Then, when Mrs. Lightfoot appeared in the doorway, he controlled himself with a gasp and struggled to his feet. “Welcome home, my son,” he said ceremoniously, as he put out his quivering hands, “and welcome home, Big Abel.” The old lady went into Dan's arms as he turned, and looking over her head, he saw Betty coming toward him with a lamp shining in her hand. “My child, here is one of our soldiers,” cried the Major, in joyful tones, and as the girl placed the lamp upon the table, she turned and met Dan's eyes. “It is the second time I've come home like this, Betty,” he said, “only I'm a worse beggar now than I was at first.” Betty shook his hand warmly and smiled into his serious face. “I dare say you're hungrier,” she responded cheerfully, “but we'll soon mend that, Mrs. Lightfoot and I. We are of one mind with Uncle Bill, who, when Mr. Blake asked him the other day what we ought to do for our returned soldiers, replied as quick as that, 'Feed 'em, sir.'” The Major laughed with misty eyes. “You can't get Betty to look on the dark side, my boy,” he declared, though Dan, watching the girl, saw that her face in repose had grown very sad. Only the old beaming smile brought the brightness now. “Well, I hope she will turn up the cheerful part of this outlook,” he said, surrendering himself to the noisy welcome of Cupid and Aunt Rhody. “We may trust her--we may trust her,” replied the old man as he settled himself back into his chair. “If there isn't any sunshine, Betty will make it for us herself.” Dan met the girl's glance for an instant, and then looked at the old negroes hanging upon his hands. “Yes, the prodigal is back,” he admitted, laughing, “and I hope the fatted calf is on the crane.” “Dar's a roas' pig fur ter-morrow, sho's you bo'n,” returned Aunt Rhody. “En I'se gwine to stuff 'im full.” Then she hurried away to her fire, and Dan threw himself down upon the rug at the Major's feet. “Yes, we may trust Betty for the sunshine,” repeated the Major, as if striving to recall his wandering thoughts. “She's my overseer now, you know, and she actually looks after both places in less time than poor Harris took to worry along with one. Why, there's not a better farmer in the county.” “Oh, Major, don't,” begged the girl, laughing and blushing beneath Dan's eyes. “You mustn't believe him, Dan, he wears rose-coloured glasses when he looks at me.” “Well, my sight is dim enough for everything else, my dear,” confessed the old man sadly. “That's why I have the lamps lighted before the sun goes down--eh, Molly?” Mrs. Lightfoot unwrapped her knitting and the ivory kneedles clicked in the firelight. “I like to keep the shadows away myself,” she responded. “The twilight used to be my favourite hour, but I dread it now, and so does Mr. Lightfoot.”