The sergeant and Eugene scarcely spoke as they went along the street. The man was silent because he was wondering what he could do to help the boy beside him. The boy was silent because, despite himself, a soft joy and peace were stealing into his troubled heart, as he once more mingled with his fellow-beings, and breathed the pure evening air.
At last the sergeant stopped before a neat wooden house near the Fens. “This is my home,” he said.
Eugene brought back his eyes from the distant horizon, and flashed a quick, appreciative glance at the small house and the pretty garden.
“Come in,” said the sergeant gruffly. “My wife will be getting the supper.”
Eugene saw no face looking out for them between the ruffled window curtains. All was quiet and still,—the sergeant had evidently no children; and the boy thoughtfully went into the house, and hung up his cap on a rack in the hall.
“I’ll not put you in the parlor,” said the sergeant. “Let’s go find the missis;” and he stalked out toward the kitchen at the back of the house.
Eugene followed him curiously, and with some hesitation.
“Well, Wife, I’ve brought a Visitor Home To-night.”