CHAPTER 13THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW
Jimmy Raeburn’s heart had been as a flame during all of these days. It was now leaden within him, and as the big man moved away Jimmy lay like one who has been wounded. The boy had a desperate feeling that something must be done, and at once; but he could not tell what the proper thing might be. Then he thought of the gloom of the darkened little house to which his hero would be returning.
But Barry was a hero no longer. He had been reduced, at one stroke, to the stature of ordinary men. Jimmy was hollow with grief. It was like homesickness, only much worse.
As he struggled to his knees, he told himself that now he was a man—for was he not always hearing his elders speak of the pain that comes only with years? It seemed to him that they had come to him—
