"For one thing, I have a horse and a handkerchief of yours." "Star! Is he still alive? Oh, tell me about it. But, no--tell me about yourself first." That evening, long after dinner, they finished their stories. Marjorie had come North six months before; the Beechams had never suspected her of having given him her horse. "The people," she said, "went mad scurrying about the country after you. I don't know what they would have done if they had suspected me. I don't like to think of it." "I've been worrying about you ever since," answered Tom. "I could have hugged that Mayor when he told me that you were here and safe." "Wasn't it strange that you went directly to him? He's one of our best friends." "I couldn't think of anyone else to go to." And he told of the battles he had fought, of his promotions and all that had befallen him. "I rode Star all through the year of '63, after I was attached to the Headquarters Staff. General Mitchel gave him back to me. He said, 'I don't suppose you'd like to have that Certain Person's horse again, would you?' I said, 'I would, but I don't dare to take a General's horse away from him.' Good old Star! When winter set in I decided that he'd seen about enough war, so I sent him home. He is in the country near Cleveland now on a furlough, waiting for his mistress to ride him again." Tom pulled out the small handkerchief. "But I'd like to keep this," he said. "It has brought me luck. I'm superstitious about it." "Please keep it," she said. "I hope it'll always bring you luck." He arose to go. "I'll be back just as soon as I can," he said, then he added: "to bring Star." "Is that the only reason?" "It isn't a reason," he replied severely. "It's an excuse." THE END