Chase exclaimed swiftly: “It doesn’t matter. It’s past. Done. All I want is--my boy. You, Wint.” Wint was beginning to believe all was right with the world. He said slowly: “Even--after last night, dad? Hetty....” “Yes,” said his father. “Mother?” Wint asked. “She’ll.... Is she unhappy?” “Why did you go away from us, Wint?” his father asked huskily. “Why did you run away?” “I thought you wouldn’t want me at home.” “We always want you.” B. B. caught Amos Caretall’s eye; and he nodded slightly; and Amos understood. He said: “We’ll be moving, Wint. See you uptown, by and by.” “Yes, I’ll be up,” Wint said. “So long, Chase.” “Good-by,” Chase told him quietly. Amos and B. B. went out, and along the hall, and down the stair. Wint and his father were left alone. For a little while they did not speak; then Chase said gently: “Come home to your mother, Wint.” Wint asked: “Even--knowing this, what happened last night? You want me in spite of it?” “Yes.” “In spite of--what I’ve done?” Chase threw up his hand; he cried: “Damn it, yes. What do we care? Whatever you do....” His voice broke huskily. “You’re always our son!” Wint could not move for a moment; he was choking. At last he laughed, happily enough; and he touched his father’s shoulder with one hand. “Wait till I put on my collar,” he said. “I’ll come along.” Muldoon, as though in his dog mind he understood, began to prance and bark about his master as Wint prepared to leave the Moody hostelry behind him. Wint was as happy as the dog. He knew his friends, now. Knew the loyal ones. And his father, and his mother.... They loved him. All was well with the world. CHAPTER III HETTY HAS HER DAY Wint and his father walked home in a silence that was little broken. Across the railroad yards, up the hill. A new understanding of his father and mother was coming to Wint; some measure of comprehension of the completeness of their love for him. He marked that there had been no reproaches from his father, no questions, no scolding. That which had passed was to be forgotten, was to be ignored. He was their son; nothing else mattered in any degree. His father, on their homeward way, spoke of other matters, once or twice. He said the day was fine; he said Mrs. Chase would probably have breakfast waiting. Wint took the older man’s lead, ignored what had passed the night before. When they got to the house, his mother met him in the hall, and she put her arms around him and cried on his shoulder, and called him her boy. Wint cried, too, and was not ashamed of it. He kept patting her head, and saying: “There, mother,” in an awkward way. She told him he must never go away from home again. Never; for anything.... He said: “I thought you would want me to go.” But she clasped him close, protesting.