to bet too high on it. No, I
wouldn't--no, no. However, we'll do our best, and they say angels can't
do any more--though they'd probably do it in a different way . . . some
different. . . . Um-hm. . . . Yes, indeed."

Two letters came to Albert before that week ended. The first was from
Madeline. He had written her of his intention to enlist and this was her
reply. The letter had evidently been smuggled past the censor, for it
contained much which Mrs. Fosdick would have blue-penciled. Its contents
were a blend of praise and blame, of exaltation and depression. He was
a hero, and so brave, and she was so proud of him. It was wonderful his
daring to go, and just what she would have expected of her hero. If only
she might see him in his uniform. So many of the fellows she knew had
enlisted. They were wonderfully brave, too, although of course nothing
like as wonderful as her own etcetera, etcetera. She had seen some of
THEM in their uniforms and they were PERFECTLY SPLENDID. But they
were officers, or they were going to be. Why wasn't he going to be an
officer? It was so much nicer to be an officer. And if he were one he
might not have to go away to fight nearly so soon. Officers stayed here
longer and studied, you know. Mother had said something about "a common
private," and she did not like it. But never mind, she would be just as
proud no matter what he was. And she should dream of him and think of
him always and always. And perhaps he might be so brave and wonderful
that he would be given one of those war crosses, the Croix de Guerre or
something. She was sure he would. But oh, no matter what happened, he
must not go where it was TOO dangerous. Suppose he should be wounded.
Oh, suppose, SUPPOSE he should be killed. What would she do then? What
would become of her? MUST he go, after all? Couldn't he stay at home and
study or something, for a while, you know? She should be so lonely after
he was gone. And so frightened and so anxious. And he wouldn't forget
her, would he, no matter where he went? Because she never, never, never
would forget him for a moment. And he must write every day. And--

The letter was fourteen pages long.

The other letter was a surprise. It was from Helen. The Reverend Mr.
Kendall had been told of Albert's intended enlistment and had written
his daughter.

So you are going into the war, Albert (she wrote). I am not surprised
because I expected you would do just that. It is what all of us wo