and young men. I was glad when you came,
because father was so interested in you. And I thought he had begun to
love you so much that he wouldn't really mind if I went away. But, you
see, his heart would be big enough for a houseful of children."

"Oh, why do you go? He will be--broken-hearted."

"Little Doris, I shall be broken-hearted if I stay. I shall begin to
hate law--maybe I shall take to drink--young fellows do at times. I know
I shall be just good for nothing. I should like best to talk it over
dispassionately with him, but that can't be done. We should both say
things that would hurt each other and that we should regret all our
lives. I have written him a long letter, but I wanted to tell someone. I
thought of Betty first, and Madam Royall, but no one can comfort him
like you. Then I wanted you to feel, Doris, that I was not an
ungrateful, disobedient son. I wish we could think alike about the war,
but it seems that we cannot. And because you are here,--and, Doris, you
are a very sweet little girl, and you will love him always, I know,--I
give him in your charge. I hope to come back, but the chances of war are
of a fearful sort, and if I should not, will you keep to him always,
Doris? Will you be son and daughter to him as you grow up--oh, Doris,
don't cry! People die every day, you know, staying at home. I have often
thought how sad it was that my mother and both your parents should die
so young----"

His voice broke then. They came to a rustic seat and sat down. He took
her hand and pressed it to his lips.

"If I shouldn't ever come back"--tremulously--"I should like to feel at
the last moment there was someone who would tell him that my very latest
thought was of him and his tender love all my twenty-one years. I want
you to make him feel that it was no disrespect to him, but love for my
country, that impelled me to the step. You will understand it better
when you grow older, and I can trust you to do me full justice and to
be tender to him. And at first, Doris, when I can, I shall write to
you. If he doesn't forbid you, I want you to answer if I can get
letters. This is a sad, sad talk for a little girl----"

Doris tried very hard not to sob. She seemed to understand intuitively
how it was, and that to make any appeal could only pain him without
persuading. If she were as wise and bright as Betty!

"That is all--or if I said any more it would be a repetition, and it is
awfully hard on you. But you w