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Rebecca’s eyes smiled up at him responsively.

“It surely is, Ivor. But I don’t mind a thing. Jim’s coming right back to me. He’s made good, he and Len, an’ he’s coming home with stuff so we’ll never need to worry ever again.”

It was out. The mother had to tell her glorious news on the instant. And to this old friend of her Jim’s of all men.

Ivor nodded. Then came the quiet, conventional reply, “You don’t say?”

The woman’s excitement rose. “But I surely do,” she cried, holding up the bundled pages of her letter. “It’s all right here. This is mail I got from him this morning. Claire brought it out from Beacon, bless her! My, I—I sort of feel just anyhow. Ever feel that way? Ever feel you wanted to dance around an’ shout? Say—but come right in an’ get some coffee. It’s on the stove. I—I’m forgettin’ everything.”

Ivor shook his head.

“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” he said in a tone of sympathy one would never have associated with him. “Just get busy an’—shout. But tell me first, when’s Jim getting along?”