As he waited, the man was conscious of a curious warmth at his heart.
It was his namesake, Walter Neilson's boy, that he had come to meet; a
homesick, lonely orphan who had appealed to him--to him, out of all the
world. Long years ago in his own arms there had been laid a tiny bundle
of flannel holding a precious little red, puckered face. But in a
month's time the little face had turned cold and waxen, and the hopes
that the white flannel bundle had carried had died with the baby
boy;--and that baby would have been a lad grown by this time, if he had
lived--a lad not far from the age of this Billy who was coming to-day,
reflected the man. And the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed the
more as he stood waiting at the gate for Billy to arrive.
The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen minutes
past five did it roll into the train-shed. Then at once its long line of
passengers began to sweep toward the iron gate.
William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face and
form that passed. There were many half-grown lads, but there was not one
with a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. Then William saw
him--a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed boy in a neat gray suit. With a low cry
William started forward; but he saw at once that the gray-clad youth was
unmistakably one of a merry family party.
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