a work for several
able-bodied men. That you and your mother and Marie have been able to do
it even this once is little short of a miracle. Of course you have each
thrown your entire heart and strength into it. Then, too, the season has
been ideal. No calamities have befallen your crop. Nevertheless
misfortunes do come. There are distempers that ravage the silkworms; bad
weather that wrecks the mulberry foliage; a thousand possible accidents
which at any moment may sweep away your income. Such a reverse would be
a dire catastrophe to you and your family." The cure paused
thoughtfully. "But if you were to sell the place," he went on a second
later, "what would you do? Surely the sum you would receive for it, even
if it was a generous one--a thing we can hardly expect in war
time--would not be sufficient for you all to live upon."

"I should not try to live here," answered Pierre promptly. "Long ago I
made up my mind that if anything befell my father and my uncle I would
persuade my mother and Marie to go with me to America."

"America!"

"It is not so far away."

"It is at the other side of the world!" asserted the simple priest.

Pierre laughed.

"No, indeed, Father. America is but a ship's journey away. Besides we
have relatives there. My mother's people are all at Paterson, New
Jersey. My plan would be to take part of the money we get for our home
and with it pay our passage to America. There I could find work at good
wages, and take care of my mother and sister."

Monsieur nodded silently.

"All this," continued Pierre, "is in case my father is not found. You
tell me he is missing. What does that mean, Father?"

"It may mean any one of several things," returned the cure. "Your father
may have been wounded and carried to some enemy's hospital; he may be a
prisoner in some war camp; or----"

The old man faltered.

"Or----" persisted Pierre. "Speak, Father. Do not be afraid."

"Or he may have fallen, and be lying unclaimed on some distant
battle-field."

"And what do you think is the chance of his being heard from?"

Unflinchingly the boy put the question.

"We cannot tell. He is in God's hands. I should wait for a time, my son.
Then if no message comes we must----"

Again the kindly voice wavered.

"We shall know he has been lost," put in Pierre in a whisper.

"I fear so."

Stillness fell between the two. Each was thinking.

"Then for the present I will not speak yet to my mother of selling th