to a dear relation, “and for all this”—he waved his big hand toward the bright room—“this pleasantness. It was like coming home, and I haven’t any home to come to now.” “Oh! Haven’t you?” said Miss Marilla caressingly. “Oh, haven’t you?” she said again wistfully. “I wonder why I can’t keep you a little while, then. You seem just like my own nephew—as I had hoped he would be—I haven’t seen him in a long time. Where were you going when I stopped you?” The young man lifted heavy eyes that were bloodshot and sore to the turning, and tried to smile. To save his life he couldn’t lie blithely when it[69] seemed so good to be in that warm room. [69] “Why—I was—I don’t know—I guess I just wasn’t going anywhere. To tell you the truth, I was all in, and down on my luck, and as blue as indigo when you met me. I was just tramping anywhere to get away from it.” “You poor boy!” said Miss Marilla, putting out her fine little blue-veined hands and caressing the old khaki sleeve. “Well, then you’re just going to stay with me and get rested. There’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t.” “No, indeed!” said Lyman Gage, drawing himself up bravely, “I couldn’t think of it. It wouldn’t be right. But I certainly thank you with all my heart for what you have done for me to-night. I really must go at once.” “But where?” she asked pathetically, as if he belonged to her, sliding her[70] hands detainingly down to his big rough ones. [70] “Oh, anywhere, it doesn’t matter!” he said, holding her delicate little old hand in his with a look of sacred respect as if a nice old angel had offered to hold hands with him. “I’m a soldier, you know; and a few storms more or less won’t matter. I’m used to it. Good night.” He clasped her hands a moment, and was about to turn away; but she held his fingers eagerly. “You shall not go that way!” she declared. “Out into the cold without any overcoat, and no home to go to! Your hands are hot, too. I believe you have a fever. You’re going to stay here to-night and have a good sleep and a warm breakfast; and then, if you must go, all right. My spare bed is all made up, and there’s a fire in the Franklin heater. The room’s as warm[71] as toast, and Mary put a big bouquet of chrysanthemums up there. If you don’t sleep there, it
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