They had planned to go back to Brownsville Landing and close up the house there, and then the next morning proceed by motor car with the children and the Hansens to the new home. For the last time they boarded the train, for the last time went flying through that familiar country along the river bank. “I suppose,” said Mr. Petersen, in his slow way, “that we are beginning a new life. I shall do all I can to make it a happy one for you.” She smiled at him kindly. “We’re old friends,” she said, and then grew very serious, “Chris,” she said, “we’ve missed--oh, almost everything, haven’t we? But if we can only make up to the children for all _they’ve_ lost, all _they’ll_ have to miss--that’s enough for us, isn’t it?” “That’s enough,” he repeated, “enough to fill our lives.” CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE I She came in upon them like a whirlwind, as they sat at the dinner table, and at the sight of their familiar faces, she gave a sort of sob of relief, and flung herself into a chair. They looked at her, pulling off her torn old gloves, and they had, both of them, an illusion that it was entirely _her_ house, _her_ home, that they had nothing to say in it. Her face was pale and worn, and bright with hysterical excitement. It didn’t occur to her that she was expected to explain her presence; she was preoccupied with some thought of her own. Suddenly she looked up, at Frances. “He’s gone!” she cried. “He would go. Into the army. I thought----” she broke into open sobbing, “I thought ... he was ... too thin ... but he left me a note ... to say they’ve taken him. Oh, _poor_ old Lionel! _Poor_ old darling!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “It’s so terribly pitiful!” she went on. “I never ... in all my life.... Oh, his arms are like little sticks....” She turned fiercely on Mr. Petersen. “The idea of _his_ being in the army, while _you_ sit at home, a big, hearty thing like you!” she cried, passionately. It was the same spirit which led so many women to press recruiting. Mr. Petersen’s face turned scarlet. He cleared his throat, and answered at last, in his slow way: “I don’t see----” he began. “Of course you don’t! You never would. You haven’t any spirit in you. You just want to sit at home and----” Frances intervened. “I don’t think it’s quite your place to come here and abuse Mr. Petersen,” she said sternly. “What have _you_ got to do with it?” asked Minnie, “it’s none of your business, that I can see.” She dried her eyes and sat up straighter. “Where are the babies?” she asked. “Asleep,” Frances answered. Minnie got up and went toward the door, but Frances intercepted her. “Let them alone!” she ordered. Minnie stared at her. “What do you _mean_! They’re _my_ children.” “They’re not! You’ve forfeited your right to them. You deserted them. You’ve disgraced them. I won’t ... I won’t let you disturb them!” Minnie’s fine black eyes stared at her scornfully.