al Jim. But he'll come."

"You mean, when Molly and I've finished putting out all his treasures in
the den, just as he'd like to see them?"

"He might come before you get the den ready. He might come--any day
now--even to-morrow." The gnarled brown hand smoothed the small,
shrivelled white one with nervous strokes and passes.

"Father!" she sat up suddenly, straight and rigid among her cushions.
"You've heard--you're trying to break something to me. Tell me right
out. Jim's alive!"

She snatched her hand free, and bending forward, flung both arms round
the old man's neck before he could answer. I sprang up to give them
room. I thought they had forgotten me. But no. Out came Father Beckett's
big hand to snatch my dress.

"This child got the news--a letter," he explained. "The boy was afraid
of the shock for us. He thought she----"

"A shock of joy--why, _that_ gives life--not death!" sobbed and laughed
Mother Beckett. "But it was right to let Molly know first. She's more to
him than we are now. Oh, Father--Father--our Jim's alive--_alive_! I
think in my soul I knew it all the time. I never felt he was gone. He
must have sent me thoughts. Dear ones, I want to pray. I want to thank
God--now, this instant, before I hear more--before I read the letter. We
three together--on our knees!"

Padre, when I was on my knees, with the thin little arm of Jim's mother
thrilling my shoulder, my face hidden in the cushions, I could only say:
"God, forgive!" and echo the thanksgiving of those two loving hearts. I
didn't pray not to be punished. I almost want to be punished--since
Brian is safe, and my punishment can't spoil his future.

* * * * *

The patriotic Becketts have given up the big gray car, now they've
settled down at the Chateau d'Andelle: and our one-legged
soldier-chauffeur has departed, to conduct a military motor. For the
moment there's only the O'Farrell Red Cross taxi, not yet gone about its
legitimate business; so it was Julian who took Father Beckett to the
far-off railway station, to meet Jim Beckett the next day but
one--Julian--of all people on earth!

Father Beckett begged me to be of the party, and Mother Beckett--too
frail still for so long and cold a drive--piled up her persuasions. But
I was firm. I didn't like going to meet trains, I said. It was prosaic.
I was allowed to stop at home, therefore, with my dear little lady: the
last time, I told myself, that she would e