"Then you are--why, you must be--" stammered Nanny.

"I am Cynthia Churchill's son."

"From India?" questioned Nan.

"From India," he said quietly.

From out the group of Green Valley folks, now dim in the May twilight,
a voice spoke.

"You may come from India but if you are Cynthia Churchill's son you are
a Green Valley man and this is home. So I say--welcome home."

Roger Allan, straight and tall and speaking with a sweetness in his
voice those listening had never heard before, stepped up to the young
man with outstretched hand.

The young stranger looked for a moment at the dimming streets, into the
kindly faces about him, and then shook hands gladly.

"It is good to be home," he said, "but I wish I had mother here with
me."




CHAPTER IV

A RAINY DAY