He suddenly leaned forward in his chair, with his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook. John Starkley continued to gaze at him in silence for a minute or two, far too amazed and upset and bewildered to know what to say or do. He felt a great pity for the young man, whom he had always known as a prosperous and self-confident person. To see him thus--shabby, weary, ashamed and reduced to tears--was a most pitiful thing. A deserter! A coward! But even so, who was he to judge? Might not his sons have been like this, except for the mercy of God? Even now any one of his boys, or all three of them, might be in great need of help and kindness. He went over and laid a hand gently on his visitor's shoulder. "I don't know what you have done, exactly, or anything at all of your reason for doing it, but you are the son of a friend of mine and have been a comrade of one of my sons," he said. "Look upon me as a friend, Jim. You say you are a deserter. Well, I heard you. It is bad--but here is my hand." Jim Hammond raised his head and looked at Mr. Starkley with a tear-stained face. "Do you mean that?" he asked; and at the other's nod he grasped the extended hand. Mr. Starkley asked him no more questions then, but brought cold ham from the pantry and cider from the cellar and ate and drank with him. The visitor's way with the food and drink told its own story and sharpened the farmer's pity. They went upstairs on tiptoe. "This is Peter's room," said Mr. Starkley. "Sleep sound and as long as you please--till dinner time, if you like. And don't worry, Jim." The farmer returned to his own room and found his wife sleeping quietly. He wakened her and told her of young Hammond's visit and all that he knew of his story. "I am glad you took him in," she said. "We must help him for our boys' sakes, even if he is a deserter." "Yes," answered Mr. Starkley, "we must help him through his shame and trouble--and then he may right the other matter of his own free will. We'll give him a chance, anyway." It was dinner time when Jim Hammond awoke from his sleep of physical and nervous exhaustion. He was puzzled to know where he was at first, but the memory of the night's adventure came to him, bringing both shame and relief. He had no watch to tell him the time, and there was no clock in the room. He had brought nothing with him--not a watch, or a dollar, or a shirt--nothing except his guilt and his shame. He flinched at the thought of meeting Mrs. Starkley and the girls.