For the moment, almost happy, for the first time: two fearful years, recently he made: "Where Mary?" "He had gone out to see about a position," said his mother. "She will be back in a little while. Go to the kitchen and get yourself some supper. Dear, you look famished. I wish I were strong enough to get up and wait on her darling boy. Oh! Tom, it is so wonderful to have you at home again!" As he closed the kitchen, Tom's eye fell upon a crumpled letter that lay on the floor where it had dropped from Mabel's blouse. He picked it up—its envelope was gone—and his eye fell on H. N. Hokeson's signature. In unbelieving—simply he read the missive. Then, snatching up his hat, he rushed from the house. 