Bert danced back into the little study.
"I was right, Mrs. Codman," said she, triumphantly, "It is Charlie."
"Has he come?" asked the mother, precipitately, letting fall, as she rose, the astonished kitten, who had clambered into her lap. "Oh, where is he?"
"At the door."
Mrs. Codman waited for no more, but hastened to the door, and, in a moment, the mother was face to face with her lost boy. Of the delight of that meeting, of the numberless questions which each had to ask, with what fond pride the mother noted the increased manliness of Charlie, I cannot speak in detail. Both hearts were full to overflowing with love and gratitude.
Meanwhile Bert was endeavoring, in her way, to entertain Bill Sturdy, who, though no man was braver or more self-reliant among his comrades, felt abashed in the presence of Bert, whom he looked upon as made of finer clay than himself. And, indeed, the beauty and sprightliness of the child made her look like a charming picture, and even Charlie's eyes could not help straying to her, from time to time, while he was talking with his mother.
Bill was perched upon an elegant chair, scarcely daring to rest his whole weight upon it, for fear it might give way under him, swinging his hat awkwardly in his hand.
"You are Bill Sturdy, are you not?" said Bert, determined to become better acquainted.
"How do you know that is my name?" asked Bill, half fancying she must have learned it in some supernatural way.
"Oh, Charlie wrote about you in his letter."