A knock sounded on the door, and John Starkley looked in and wished him good morning. "If you get up now, Jim, you'll be in time for dinner," he said. "Here is hot water and a shaving kit--and a few duds of Henry's and Peter's you can use if you care to. Set your mind at rest about the family, Jim. I have told my wife all that I know myself, and she feels as I do. As for the girls--well, I will let them know as much as is necessary. We mean to help you to get on your feet again, Jim." The deserter shaved with care, dressed in his own seedy garments and went slowly downstairs. He entered the kitchen. Mrs. Starkley and Flora were there, busy about the midday dinner. They looked up at him and smiled as he appeared in the doorway, but their eyes and Flora's quick change of color told him of the quality of their pity. They would feel the same, he knew, for any broken and drunken tramp in the ditch. But he was a more despicable thing than a drunken tramp. He was a deserter, a coward. They knew that of him, for he saw it in their eyes that tried to be so frank and kind; and that was not the worst of him. He could not advance from the threshold or meet their glances again. Mrs. Starkley went to the young man quickly and, taking his hand in hers, drew him into the room. Flora came forward and gave him her hand and said she was glad to see him; and then Emma came in from the dining room and said, "Hello, Mr. Hammond! I hope you can stay here a long time; we are very lonely." His heart was so shaken by those words that his tongue was suddenly loosened. He looked desperately, imploringly round, and his face went red as fire and then white as paper. "I'll stay--if you'll let me--until I pick up my nerve again," he said quickly and unsteadily. "Keep me hidden here from Stanley and my folks. I'll work like a nigger. I am a deserter, as you all know--and I know that Peter didn't tell you so. I'd do anything for him, after that. I'm a runaway soldier, but it wasn't because I was afraid to fight. I'll show you as soon as I'm fit--I'll go and fight. It was my beastly temper and drink that did for me. I've been near crazy since. But I'll show you my gratitude some day--if you give me a chance now to work round to feeling something like a man again." Flora and Emma were tongue-tied by the stress of their emotions. They could only gaze at their guest with tear-dimmed eyes. But Mrs. Starkley went close to him and put a hand on each of his drooped shoulders. "Of course, my dear boy," she said. "You are only a boy, Jim, a year or two younger than Henry, I think. Trust us to help you." During dinner they talked about the country, the war, the weather and the stock--about almost everything but Jim Hammond's affairs. "What do you want me to do this afternoon?" asked Jim when the meal was over. "I don't know much about farm work, but I can use an axe and can handle horses."