"I know. His father has consented; they think I am wrong. My son thinks I am wrong. But I can't! I can't!" In her suppressed tones sounded the ancient wail of women--mothers crying for their sons sacrificed in war. For a few moments neither of them spoke. It was hard for Mary to break the silence. Her friend sat at her side withdrawn and still; then she lifted her eyes to the picture of herself and the children and spoke again, only breathing the words: "Peter Junior--my beautiful oldest boy--he is the last--the others are all gone--three of them." "Peter Junior is splendid. I thought so last evening as I saw him coming up the path. I took it home to myself--what I should feel, and what I would think if he were my son. Somehow we women are so inconsistent and foolish. I knew if he were my son, I never could give my consent to his going, never in the world,--but there! I would be so proud of him for doing just what your boy has done; I would look up to him in admiration, and be so glad that he was just that kind of a man!" Hester Craigmile turned and looked steadily in her friend's eyes, but did not open her lips, and after a moment Mary continued:-- "To have one's sons taken like these--is--is different. We know they are safe with the One who loved little children; we know they are safe and waiting for us. But to have a boy grow into a young man like Peter Junior--so straight and fine and beautiful--and then to have him come and say: 'I'm going to help save our country and will die for it if I must!' Why, my heart would grow big with thanksgiving that I had brought such an one into the world and reared him. I--What would I do! I couldn't tell him he might go,--no,--but I'd just take him in my arms and bless him and love him a thousand times more for it, so he could go away with that warm feeling all about his heart; and then--I'd just pray and hope the war might end soon and that he might come back to me rewarded, and--and--still good." "That's it. If he would,--I don't distrust my son,--but there are always things to tempt, and if--if he were changed in that way, or if he never came back,--I would die." "I know. We can't help thinking about ourselves and how we are left--or how we feel--" Mary hesitated and was loath to go on with that train of thought, but her friend caught her meaning and rose in silence and paced the room a moment, then returned. "It is easy to talk in that way when one has not lost," she said. "I know it seems so, but it is not easy, Hester Craigmile. It is hard--so hard that I came near staying at home this morning. It seemed as if I could not--could not--" "Yes, what I said was bitter, and it wasn't honest. You were good to come to me--and what you have said is true. It has helped me; I think it will help me."