“The scene was unforgettable, beautiful and impressive. In the little church a choir of soldiers sang and a soldier-priest played the organ, while the Chaplain of the Army Division held the burial service. The chaplain’s sermon I have asked to have reproduced and sent to you, together with other effects of your son’s.... “The chaplain spoke most beautifully and at length, telling very tenderly what it meant to the French people that an American should give his life while trying to help them in the hour of their extremity. The name of this chaplain is Henri Deligny, _Aumônier Militaire_, Ambulance 16-27, Sector 112; and he was assisted by the permanent curé of the little church, Abbé Blondelle, who wishes me to assure you that he will guard most reverently your son’s grave, and be there to receive you when the day may come that you shall wish to visit it. “After leaving the church the procession marched to the military cemetery, where your son’s body was laid beside the hundreds of others who have died for France. Both the lieutenant and general here paid tributes of appreciation, which I will have sent to you. The general, various officers of the army, and ambulance assisted in the last rites.... “I have brought back and will send you the _Croix de Guerre_....” * * * * * Oh, but you couldn’t read any further—for the great lump of pride in your throat, the thick mist of tears in your eyes. A sob escaped the boy. He looked over at Maw and saw the miraculous. Maw was awake at last and crying—a new-fledged pulsating Maw emerged from the brown chrysalis of her sorrows. “Oh, Maw!... Our Nat!... All that—that-funeral!... Some funeral, Maw!” The boy choked. “My Nat!” Maw was saying. “Buried like a king! ... Like a King o’ France!” She clasped her hands tightly. It was like some beautiful fantasy. A Haynes—the despised and rejected of earth—borne to his last home with such pomp and ceremony! “There never was nothin’ like it heard of round here, Maw.... If folks could only know—” She lifted her head as at a challenge. “Why, they’re goin’ to know, Luke—for I’m goin’ to tell ’em. Folks that have talked behind Nat’s back—folks that have pitied us—when they see this—like a King o’ France!” she repeated softly. “I’m goin’ down to town to-day, Luke.” V It was dusk when Maw came back; dusk of a clear day, with a rosy sunset off behind the hills. Luke opened the door for her and he saw that she had brought some of the sun along in with her—its colors in her worn face; its peace in her eyes. She was the same, yet somehow new. Even the tilt of her crazy old bonnet could not detract from a strange new dignity that clothed her. She did not speak at once, going over to warm her gloveless hands at the stove, and staring up at the Grampaw Peel plate; then: