But this must be done back on the lot, and the scene could not be secured until the next day.
Once more he became the pitiful victim of a great city, crawling back to the home shelter on a wintry night.

It was Christmas eve, he now learned.

He pushed open the door of the little home and staggered in to face his old mother and the little sister.

They sprang forward at his entrance; the sister ran to support him to the homely old sofa.

He was weak, emaciated, his face an agony of repentance, as he mutely pled forgiveness for his flight.
His old mother had risen, had seemed about to embrace him fondly when he knelt at her feet, but then had drawn herself sternly up and pointed commandingly to the door.