The meal was over. We stood there silent; then her face grew wet With tears, as wet as blossoms soaked with rain. She took my hand and took her mother's hand, And put our hands together--then she said: "Be friends, be friends," and hurried from the room, Her mother following. I stepped out-doors, And stood what seemed a minute, entered again, Walked to the front room, from the window saw Elenor and her mother in the street. The girl was gone! How could I follow them? They had not asked me. So I stood and saw The canvas telescope her mother carried. They disappeared. I went back to my store, Came back at nine o'clock, lighted a match And saw my wife in bed, cloths on her eyes. She turned her face to the wall, and didn't speak. Next morning at the breakfast table she, Complaining of a stiff arm, said: "that satchel Was weighted down with books, my arm is stiff-- Elenor took French books to study French. When she can pay a teacher, she will learn How to pronounce the words, but by herself She'll learn the grammar, how to read." She knew How words like that would hurt! I merely said: "A happy home is better than knowing French," And went off to my store. But coroner, Search for the men in her life. When she came Back from the West after three years, I knew By look of her eyes that some one filled her life, Had taken her life and body. What if I Had failed as father in the way I failed? And what if our home was not home to her? She could have married--why not? If a girl Can fascinate the men--I know she could-- She can have marriage, if she wants to marry. Unless she runs to men already married, And if she does so, don't you make her out As loose and bad? Well, what is more to tell? She learned French, seemed to know the ways of the world, Knew books, knew how to dress, gave evidence Of contact with refinements; letters came When she was here at intervals inscribed In writing of elite ones, gifted maybe. And she was filial and kind to me, Most kind toward her mother, gave us things At Christmas time. But still her way was such That I as well had been familiar with her As with some formal lady visiting. She came back here before she went to France, Staid two days with us. Once upon the porch She turned to me and said: "I wish to honor Mother and you by serving in the war. You must rejoice that I can serve--you must! But most I wish to honor America, This land of promise, of fulfillment, too, Which proves to all the world that men and women Are born alike of God, at least that riches And classes formed in pride have neither hearts, Nor minds above the souls of those who work. This land that reared me is my dearest love, I go to serve the country."