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and son turned quickly towards the open doorway of the little sitting room.

It framed a forlorn figure—a boyish form covered with mud, hatless, and disheveled.

"Van!" cried Mrs. Fairbanks in astonishment.

She had a warm corner in her heart for the refugee who had made her home his for so many weeks when his poor mind was distraught.

Her motherly face lit up, and she extended her arms in greeting.

But Van edged up to her gingerly, and kissing her cheek quickly drew back with the remark:

"I've been homesick and hungry for a week just to see you smile and to hear you call me your boy, but I'm too muddy and torn up for even a second-class prodigal son!"

"Why, Van!" cried Ralph; "how did you get in that fix?"

"Run down by a team."

"And you are hurt—there is a deep cut on your cheek." Rh