e
home," said Pierre at last. "We will wait and hope for good news. It is
cruel to distress her unless we must. All may yet be well. Surely she
has grief enough as it is, for she was very fond of my uncle."

"You are a wise lad, Pierre," exclaimed the cure. "Do as you have said.
Console your mother with the hope of good tidings from the front. They
may come--who knows? And if not, her sorrows will at least come singly
and not all at once."

And thus it came about that through the great grief that overwhelmed the
Bretton home it was Pierre who was his mother's stay and comfort. He it
was who counseled hope and patience; he who took up the burden of acting
both as father and son.

But despite his courage the message so eagerly longed for did not come.
Days, weeks, months dragged on. The winter passed and faint hints of
spring began to steal into the landscape. The river, foaming with the
melted snows from far up the Pyrenees, dashed with deafening roar
through the mountain gorges. There was a new brilliancy in the noonday
sunshine.

To Pierre the worst had now become a certainty. His father would never
again be heard from. Somewhere in a camp or battle-field far from home
like a true son of France he had given up his life for his beloved
country. With sinking heart the boy faced this reality. He had not
sensed until now how subtly a secret anticipation that the facts might
prove otherwise had buoyed him up. But now hope was gone. How should he
tell his mother? How break in upon the dream she was cherishing, and
rudely force upon her the need for action?

How would she receive the plan for selling the home? To leave the spot
she loved so much would be an overpowering blow to her, for had she not
come as a bride to her present dwelling? Nay, more; she had been born in
Bellerivre and had never ventured beyond its confines. What would she
say to breaking every tie of her old life and setting forth from the
valley she loved to end her days in a strange and unknown country? For
Marie and himself it was well enough; they were young and their days
stretched far before them. But for his mother it would mean only the
severing of every familiar association.

Poor Pierre! Many an anxious hour did he spend wondering how he was to
present his plan so that it would not seem cruel.

Then one day he suddenly saw how useless had been his worry. It was his
mother herself who spoke and made the very suggestion he had been
hesitating