was attempting to rescue--was found and another, badly
disfigured, which was at first supposed to be that of your grandson. But
this body was subsequently identified as that of a private named Hamlin
who was killed when the enemy first charged. Sergeant Speranza's body
is still missing, but is thought to be buried beneath the ruins of the
cottage. These ruins were subsequently blown into further chaos by a
high explosive shell.

Then followed more expressions of regret and sympathy and confirmation
of the report concerning citation and the war cross. Captain Lote read
the letter at first alone in his private office. Then he brought it
home and gave it to his wife to read. Afterward he read it aloud to Mrs.
Ellis and to Laban, who was making his usual call in the Snow kitchen.

When the reading was ended Labe was the first to speak. His eyes were
shining.

"Godfreys!" he exclaimed. "Godfreys, Cap'n Lote!"

The captain seemed to understand.

"You're right, Labe," he said. "The boy's made us proud of him. . . .
Prouder than some of us are of ourselves, I cal'late," he added, rising
and moving toward the door.

"Sho, sho, Cap'n, you mustn't feel that way. No, no."

"Humph! . . . Labe, I presume likely if I was a pious man, one of the
old-fashioned kind of pious, and believed the Almighty went out of his
way to get square with any human bein' that made a mistake or didn't do
the right thing--if I believed that I might figger all this was a sort
of special judgment on me for my prejudices, eh?"

Mr. Keeler was much disturbed.

"Nonsense, nonsense, Cap'n Lote!" he protested. "You ain't fair to
yourself. You never treated Al anyhow but just honest and fair and
square. If he was here now instead of layin' dead over there in France,
poor feller, he'd say so, too. Yes, he would. Course he would."

The captain made no reply, but walked from the room. Laban turned to
Mrs. Ellis.

"The old man broods over that," he said. "I wish. . . . Eh? What's the
matter, Rachel? What are you lookin' at me like that for?"

The housekeeper was leaning forward in her chair, her cheeks flushed and
her hands clenched.

"How do you know he's dead?" she asked, in a mysterious whisper.

"Eh? How do I know who's dead?"

"Albert. How do you know he's dead?"

Laban stared at her.

"How do I know he's DEAD!" he repeated. "How do I know--"

"Yes, yes, yes," impatiently; "that's what I said. Don't run it over
three or four times more.