“Gad!” he exclaimed, “it’s a crime to back up such yarns as those, but I suppose you did the best you could.”
“The best I could,” answered Barnes, soberly.
“And it’s my fault anyway,” put in the boy quickly. “I’m not long on religion, but if conversion means anything, I guess it means just the changed way I feel now about father and home. I’ve got you to thank for that.”
“I converted myself in the process,” smiled Barnes, “which is more than some preachers do.”
He passed the place by the road where he had found the girl lying bruised on the grass, and from this point on, his lips were set. But when he came in sight once more of the little brick house, his jaws relaxed a trifle. It looked as warm and peaceful and sunshiny as it had the first day he saw it. He led the way to the little Dutch door, and lifted the brass knocker. It sent an echo through the house which was answered by John. The latter looked both startled and pleased.
“Is Eleanor able to come downstairs?” inquired Barnes.
“Yes, sir. She said she was expectin’ you.”
“Then you’ll ask her to step into the sitting-room?”
Van Patten followed his leader uneasily, and paced the room almost as though fearing this interview. But when his sister appeared he had reached her side in a jiffy.
“Sis,” he cried, “I’m back—back home!”