jor Hunt, and
Garrett, and every other brother-officer whom Jim had sent to
Homewood; and others that Norah and her father valued almost more
highly--from men who had served under him. Letters that made him glow
with pride--almost forgetting grief as they read them. It seemed so
impossible to think that Jim would never come again.

"I can't feel as though he were dead," Norah said, looking up at her
father. "I know I've got to get used to knowing he has gone away from
us for always. But I like to think of him as having only changed
work. Jim never could be idle in Heaven; he always used to say it
seemed such a queer idea to sit all day in a white robe and play a
harp. Jim's Heaven would have to be a very busy one, and I know he's
gone there, Dad."

David Linton got up and went to the bookcase. He came back with
_Westward Ho!_ in his hand.

"I was reading Kingsley's idea of it last night," he said. "I think
it helps, Norah. Listen. 'The best reward for having wrought well
already, is to have more to do; and he that has been faithful over a
few things, must find his account in being made ruler over many
things. That is the true and heroical rest, which only is worthy of
gentlemen and sons of God.' Jim was only a boy, but he went straight
and did his best all his life. I think he has just been promoted to
some bigger job."

So they held their heads high, as befitted people with just cause for
being proud, and set themselves to find the rest that comes from hard
work. There was plenty to do, for the house was always full of Tired
People. Not that the Lintons ever tried to entertain their guests.
Tired People came to a big, quiet house, where everything ran
smoothly, and all that was possible was done for comfort. Beyond
that, they did exactly as they chose. There were horses and the motor
for those who cared to ride and drive; the links for golfers; walks
with beautiful scenery for energetic folk, and dainty rooms with big
easy-chairs, or restful lounges under the trees on the lawn, for those
who asked from Fate nothing better than to be lazy. No one was
expected to make conversation or to behave as an ordinary guest.
Everywhere there was a pleasant feeling of homeliness and welcome; shy
men became suddenly at their ease; nerve-racked men, strained with
long months of the noise and horror of war, relaxed in the peace of
Homewood, and went back to duty with a light step and a clear eye.
Only there was