How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succor us that succor want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant, Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant! They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant. And all for love, and nothing for reward; O why should heavenly God to men have such regard! --[Edmund Spenser. When I aroused from my sleep it was in the gray light of earth's morning, and I was standing on the doorstep of the house in Kentville that my brother and I had left together, some thirty-six hours before, reckoned by earth-time. I shuddered a little with a strange chill when I saw where we were, and turned quickly to my brother Frank, who stood beside me. He put his arm about me, and with a reassuring smile, said: "For their sakes be brave and strong, and try to make them understand your blessed change." I did not try to answer, though I took heart, and entered with him into the house. Everything was very quiet--no one seemed astir. My brother softly opened a door immediately to the right of the entrance, and motioned me to enter. I did so, and he closed it behind me, remaining himself outside. Something stood in the center of the room, and I soon discovered that it was a pall. It was a great relief to me to see that it was not black, but a soft shade of gray. Someone was kneeling beside it, and as I slowly approached I saw it was my dear son. He was kneeling upon one knee, with his elbow resting on the other knee, and his face buried in his hand. One arm was thrown across the casket, as though he were taking a last embrace of his "little mother." I saw that the form within the casket lay as though peacefully sleeping, and was clad in silver gray, with soft white folds about the neck and breast. I was grateful that they had remembered my wishes so well. I put my arms about the neck of my darling son, and drew his head gently against my breast, resting my cheek upon his bowed head. Then I whispered, "Dearest, I am here beside you--living, breathing, strong and well. Will you not turn to me, instead of to that lifeless form in the casket? It is only the worn-out tenement--I am your living mother." He lifted his head as though listening; then, laying his hand tenderly against the white face in the casket he whispered, "Poor, dear little mother!" and again dropped his face into both hands, while his form shook with convulsive sobs. As I strove to comfort him, the door opened and his lovely girl-wife entered. I turned to meet her as she came slowly towards us. Midway in the room we met, and, taking both her hands tenderly in mine, I whispered, "Comfort him, darling girl, as only you can; he needs human love."