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Rh homesick himself—softened into a tender and pen¬ sive mood. He did not move as Hugh sat down in a big chair on the other side of the hearth and said softly, “Thinking ?”

“Un-huh. Where you been?”

“Across the hall in Morse’s room.” Then as Carl looked up in surprise, he told him of his expe¬ rience with their red-headed neighbor. “He ’ll get over it,” he concluded confidently. “He’s just been lonely.”

Carl puffed contemplatively at his pipe for a few minutes before replying. Hugh waited, watching the slender boy stretched out in a big chair before the fire, his ankles crossed, his face gentle and boy¬ ish in the ruddy, flickering light. The shadows, heavy and wavering, played magic with the room; it was vast, mysterious.

“No,” said Carl, pausing again to puff his pipe; “no, he won’t get over it. He ’ll go home.”

“Aw, shucks. A big guy like that is n’t going to stay a baby all his life.” Hugh was frankly deri¬ sive. “Soon as he gets to know a lot of fellows, he ’ll forget home and mother.”

Carl smiled vaguely, his eyes dreamy as he gazed into the hypnotizing flames. The mask of sophis¬ tication had slipped off his face; he was pleasantly in the control of a gentle mood, a mood that erased the last vestige of protective coloring.

He shook his head slowly. “You don’t under-