Thus Jimmy Holden arrived in Roundtree and was observed and convoyed--but not bothered--off the train. It is deplorable that adults are not as friendly and helpful to one another as they are to children; it might make for a more pleasant world. As Jimmy walked along the station platform at Roundtree, one of his former fellow-passengers walked beside him. "Where are you going, young man? Someone going to meet you, of course?" "No, sir," said Jimmy. "I'm supposed to take a cab--" "I'm going your way, why not ride along with me?" "Sure it's all right?" "Sure thing. Come along." Jimmy never knew that this man felt good for a week after he'd done his good turn for the year. His grandfather opened the door and looked down at him in complete surprise. "Why, Jimmy! What are you doing here? Who brought--" His grandmother interrupted, "Come in! Come in! Don't just stand there with the door open!" Grandfather closed the door firmly, grandmother knelt and folded Jimmy in her arms and crooned over him, "You poor darling. You brave little fellow. Donald," she said firmly to her husband, "go get a glass of warm milk and some cookies." She led Jimmy to the old-fashioned parlor and seated him on the sofa. "Now, Jimmy, you relax a moment and then you can tell me what happened." Jimmy sighed and looked around. The house was old, and comfortably sturdy. It gave him a sense of refuge, of having reached a safe haven at last. The house was over-warm, and there was a musty smell of over-aged furniture, old leather, and the pungence of mothballs. It seemed to generate a feeling of firm stability. Even the slightly stale air--there probably hadn't been a wide open window since the storm sashes were installed last autumn--provided a locked-in feeling that conversely meant that the world was locked out. Grandfather brought in the glass of warmed milk and a plate of cookies. He sat down and asked, "What happened, Jimmy?" "My mother and father are--" "You eat your cookies and drink your milk," ordered his grandmother. "We know. That Mr. Brennan sent us a telegram." * * * * * It was slightly more than twenty-four hours since Jimmy Holden had blown out the five proud candles on his birthday cake and begun to open his fine presents. Now it all came back with a rush, and when it came back, nothing could stop it. Jimmy never knew how very like a little boy of five he sounded that night. His speech was clear enough, but his troubled mind was too full to take the time to form his headlong thoughts into proper sentences. He could not pause to collect his thoughts into any chronology, so it came out going back and forth all in a single line, punctuated only by necessary pauses for the intake of breath. He was close to tears before he was halfway through, and by the time he came to the end he stopped in a sob and broke out crying. His grandfather said, "Jimmy, aren't you exaggerating? Mr. Brennan isn't that sort of a man."