esentment at the funeral of
David's father. Her own husband had been carried to his grave on a
hand-bier, but at the funeral of David's father there was a horse-drawn
hearse and a carriage for the mourners. "They were always _such_ people for
show," said Mrs. Wigley. And the memory had rankled. But now it was buried.

Next day we saw the mother and the wife set out down the lane for the
village post-office, and thereafter daily they went to await the arrival of
letters, returning each day silent and hopeless. At last, in reply to
inquiries which had been made at the War Office, there came the official
statement that David had been reported "wounded and missing." We learned
that this usually meant that the man was dead, but the women did not know
this.

And, curiously enough, David's mother, who had been the most despairing of
women, and seemed to regard David as dead even before he started, now
discovered a genius for hopefulness. She had heard of a case from a
neighbouring village of a man who had been reported dead, and who
afterwards wrote from a prison camp in Germany, and she clung to this
precedent with a confident tenacity that we did not try to weaken. It was
foolish, of course, we said. She was pinning her faith to a case in a
thousand; but the hope gave the women something to live for, and the wound
would heal the better for the illusion.

And, after all, she was right. This morning we saw the postman call at the
cottage. He handed a post card to the wife, and it was evident that
something wonderful and radiant had happened. The women fell on each other
"laughing happy." No more going into the house to shut the door on the
world. They came out to share the great tidings with their neighbours.
"David is alive! David is a prisoner in Germany.... He's wounded.... But
he's going on all right.... He can't write yet.... But he will."

Yes, there was the post card all right. The English was not very good and
the script was German, but the fact that David was alive in hospital shone
clear and indisputable.

"It's as though he's raised from the dead," cried the wife through her
tears.

The joy of the old mother was touched with solemnity. She is a great
chapel-goer, and her utterance is naturally coloured by the Book with which
she is most familiar.

"My son was dead, and is alive again," she said simply; "he was lost and is
found."

When I went out into the orchard and saw the red-cheeked apples still
clingi