“Well, dears, it will not be very many weeks now before we will hope to see our boys again. I am counting the very days. I wonder what souvenir of the war you will bring me. It will be something I will love to have, I know, and not a horrid helmet or anything of that sort. Of course the thing I would like best you can’t possibly bring me, and that is a house full of those poor pitiful little Belgian refugees. When I think of our big house, this splendid home we have built since you went away, when I think that soon it will be finished, and we will be in it, just we four, I can scarcely bear it. So _many_ little children homeless! “Well, some day, boys, we must manage to do something for some of those suffering little ones. I know of no other way in which to thank God for our two boys and our many, many blessings. Your father is prospering more and more in his business, and we both feel that we must all four unite in doing for those less fortunate than we. “However, I know I can’t hope for a couple of Belgians just at present. After the war, we will go and collect a few! “Take care of yourselves always for the sake of the two who love you so well. “Your always loving “Mother.” “Well, I declare!” said the Captain as he finished the clearly written page. “Doesn’t that about fix it?” asked Porky triumphantly. “Of course these are French, but I guess she won’t mind that. They couldn’t be worse off in the way of parents or more destitute, no matter _what_ they were.” “Mother will be in her glory,” Beany cut in. “I hope they don’t get fat before we get them home.” “I should say not! The thinner, the better as far as mother is concerned. She snaked a private right out of the camp hospital last summer and took him home. He had had pneumonia and looked like a sick sparrow. Mother fed him and nursed him and he gained seventeen pounds in three weeks.” “Well, it does beat all!” said the Captain. “Of course, you understand there may be some reason that will make it impossible for you to take these children out of the country.” “All I can say is, there hadn’t _better_ be,” said Porky, thrusting out his square jaw. “Think I want to give up my kid after it came to me and I lugged it around for an hour?” “And do you suppose I want anybody but mother and me to bring up this girl?” said Beany, awkwardly hugging the sleeping mite in his arms closer. “Besides,” said Porky, “what about mother? It’s up to us to bring her what she likes best, and you read that letter. What she wants is _orphans_, and she’s _got_ to _have_ ’em if we _steal_ ’em! So long as we are around, mother has got to have what she wants.”