Mr. Carter and Daniel waited at the gates, detailed for this painful duty by the panic-stricken Mrs. Carter. The train was late, and they had been waiting fifteen minutes. Daniel patiently leaned on his cane, while his father gripped the iron bars at times with the air of an exasperated tiger looking for a victim. Aware of other people also waiting and within ear-shot, they had said little to each other; but as the train finally approached, Mr. Carter broke out with a suppressed rumble. “The young donkey!” he said for the hundredth time. “I--I wonder what I’m here for, anyway?” Daniel, who had borne a good deal already, pulled at his sleeve. “They’ll hear you. For Heaven’s sake, make the best of it!” Mr. Carter gave utterance to a sound that seemed to be a cross between a grunt and a bellow, but the thunderous arrival of the engine drowned all other noises, and he fell silent while he stared gloomily down the long aisle between the tracks where the passengers were disembarking. “There’s William,” said Daniel in his ear. “Where?” Mr. Carter experienced a strange, sinking feeling around the diaphragm. “Oh, I see!” The two stood silent, trying to get a good view through the crowd. “My word, Dan, has he married a kid? She’s no size at all!” Dan went forward, his halting walk jarring anew on his father. Mr. Carter hated to have one of his boys a cripple, but to-night he felt that Daniel was heroic. He followed in a panic. William saw them. “Hello, Dan! How d’you do, father? Here--here’s your new daughter,” he added in a lower, more vibrant tone, drawing his wife forward, pride in his face. Mr. Carter made a desperate plunge, tried to think of something to say, stumbled badly, and surprised himself and both his sons by suddenly kissing the bride. “Welcome home!” he said loudly. “We’re all mighty glad to see you. We----” He stopped short with his mouth open, amazed at his own performance. He had never intended to do anything of the kind. He was suffering from stage fright, his mind became a blank, and he simply stared. But the bride was not at loss. His greeting seemed to touch her. She held out both hands with a fluttering, birdlike gesture, one to him and one to Dan, and she lifted a lovely, animated face. “_Vous parlez Français?_” she cried eagerly, with shining eyes. Mr. Carter looked about aghast. “Good Lord, William! Can’t she speak English?” He was answered with a chorus of laughter. Young Mrs. Carter, William, and Daniel giggled outrageously. “Of course she does, father! She’s half American,” replied William. But the laugh had broken the ice. Mr. Carter looked more narrowly at his daughter-in-law, and discovered that her eyes were lovely. She raised them to his now with a look that suddenly recalled William’s description. They were soft and brown and tender, with something sylvan and untamed in their lucid depths. “By George, a wild fawn, of course, of course!” thought Mr. Carter, and he offered her his arm.