Mr. Leslie saw him before he reached the ground. Through the crowd of sad and joyful welcomers he made a swift way to his side. He had not seen the boy for a year or more—not since furlough—he told himself, desperately forcing back the shock of pity and distress that smote him at sight of that thin, white young face and slow-moving figure. Was this Bob, who had never been able to move quickly enough?
"The boy's had a fever, of course," Mr. Leslie muttered, though his heart refused to think it a quite satisfactory explanation.
But just then Bob saw and recognized him, and the old merry smile came swiftly to his lips. He raised his cap and waved it in a weak hurrah.
All Mr. Leslie's conflicting emotions vanished in the swift rush of one thought—whatever he had been through, Bob was free! "Hello! Hello!" he shouted, hardly knowing what he said.
"You, Cousin Henry! How on earth——" cried Bob, thrilling between astonishment and utter happiness as Mr. Leslie, carefully avoiding a wounded French soldier's toddling little son, reached past the guards to grasp Bob's outstretched hand.
[CHAPTER XVIII]
CAPTAIN LUCY
The soldier at the telegraph office on Governor's Island has a busy time of it—especially since the outbreak of war. Cablegrams are nothing uncommon to him—he is prepared for anything. But that did not prevent his rising from his place in a burst of excitement one cold morning toward the end of January, with a yellow paper in his hand.