in a burst of applause full of spirit and heart, closing with a flourish of wails from Cevery Pulsifer and the latest of the Kallabergers.  Perry’s arms fell gracefully to his side and he inclined his head and half closed his eyes in acknowledgment.  Then turning to Isaac, measuring every word, in a voice clear and cutting, his long forefinger shaking, he cried:  “From the bloody battlefields of Cuby, from her tropic camps where you suffered and bled, you come home to us to-day.  You have fought in the cause of liberty.  To your country you have give a limb—­you——­”

Poor Bolum!  Awakened from the gentle doze into which he had fallen the instant Cevery Pulsifer relieved him of the duty of leading the applause, he brought his chair down on all four legs, and slapped both knees violently.  Satisfied that they were still there, he looked up at the orator.

“You have give a limb,” repeated Perry, emphasizing the announcement by shaking his finger at the old man.

Isaac’s mouth was half open for a protest, when he remembered, and leaning over seized the toe of each boot in a hand and wriggled his feet.  When we saw his face again he was smiling gently, and swinging back, he nestled his head against the wall and closed his eyes once more.

“You would have give your life,” cried Perry.

But the only sign old Bolum made was to twirl the thumbs of his clasped hands.

“Six months ago, six short, stirrin’ months ago you left us, just a plain man, at your country’s call.”  Perry was thundering his rolling periods at us.  “To-day, a moment since, standin’ here by the track, we heard the rumblin’ of the train and the engyne’s whistle, and we says a he-ro comes—­a he-ro in blue!”

Had Perry looked my way, he might have noticed that I was clad in khaki, but he was addressing Henry Holmes, whose worthy head was nodding in continual acquiescence.  The old man stood, with eyes downcast and hands clasped before him, a picture of humility.  The orator, carried away by his own eloquence, seemed to forget its real purpose, and in a moment, sitting unnoticed in my chair with Tim at my side, I became a minor figure, while half a hundred were gathered there to do honor to Henry Holmes.  Once I even forgot and started to applaud when Perry raised his hand over the gray head as though in blessing and said solemnly:  “He-ro in blue—­agin we bid you welcome!”

A little laugh behind me recalled me to my real place, and with a burning face I turned.

I have in my mind a thousand pictures of one woman.  But of them all the one I love most, the one on which I dwell most as I sit of an evening with my pipe and my unopened book, is that which I first saw when I sought the chit who noticed my ill-timed applause and laughed at me.  I found her.  I saw that she laughed with me and for me, and I laughed too.  We laughed together.  An instant, and her face became grave.