The mother had broken down over Evelyn's prayer, "not to forget my papa, and not to forget my dolly," and "to take care of my papa and of Santa Claus and not to let the Yankees hurt 'em," and her tears fell silently after the little ones were asleep, as she put the finishing touches to the tiny gray uniform for Charlie. She was thinking not only of the children's disappointment, but of the absence of him on whose promise they had so securely relied. He had been away now for a year, and she had had no word of him for many weeks. Where was he? Was he dead or alive? Mrs. Stafford sank on her knees by the bedside.
"O God, give me faith like this little child!" she prayed again and again. She was startled by hearing a step on the front portico and a knock at the door.
Bob, who was working in front of the hall-fire, went to the door. His mother heard him answer doubtfully some question. She opened the door of her chamber and went out into the hall. A stranger with a large bundle or pack on his back stood on the threshold. His clothes were shabby and old, his hat, which was still on his head, was pulled down over his eyes, and he wore a beard.
"An', leddy, wud ye bay so koind as to shelter a poor sthranger for a noight at this blissed time of pace and good-will?" he said, in a strong Irish brogue.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Stafford, with her eyes fixed on him. She moved slowly up to him. Then, by an instinct, quickly lifting her hand, she pushed his hat back from his eyes. Her husband clasped her in his arms.
"My darling!"
Bob, with a cry, seized him. "I knew you'd come, father," he said.
"They all said you would," declared Mrs. Stafford.
"Well, I had to come. I had given my word," said Colonel Stafford, smiling.
The Colonel was borne into the hall.