“Come right in here,” she whispered, and took him to the inner room. There she drew him to the bedside and down upon his knees. With their arms about each other they knelt, mingling tears and sobs together till their strength was done. Then through the sobs the boy heard her voice. “You gave him to me,” he heard her whisper, not in her ordinary manner of reverent formal prayer, but as if remonstrating with a friend. “You know you gave him to me and I gave him back.--I know he is not mine.--But won't you let me have him for a little while?--It will not be so very long.--Yes, yes, I know.--I am not holding him back.--No, no, I could not, I would not do that.--Oh, I would not.--What am I better than the others?--But you will give him back to me again.--There are so many never coming back, and I have only one boy.--You will let him come back.--He is my baby boy.--It is his mother asking.” Larry could bear it no longer. “Oh, mother, mother, mother,” he cried. “You are breaking my heart. You are breaking my heart.” His sobs were shaking the bed on which he leaned. His mother lifted her head. “What is it, Lawrence, my boy?” she asked in surprise. “What is it?” Her voice was calm and steady. “We must be steadfast, my boy. We must not grudge our offering. No, with willing hearts we must bring our sacrifice.” She passed into prayer. “Thou, who didst give Thy Son, Thine only Son, to save Thy world, aid me to give mine to save our world to-day. Let the vision of the Cross make us both strong. Thou Cross-bearer, help us to bear our cross.” With a voice that never faltered, she poured forth her prayer of sacrifice, of thanksgiving, of supplication, till serene, steady, triumphant, they arose from their knees. She was heard “in that she feared,” in her surrender she found victory, in her cross, peace. And that serene calm of hers remained undisturbed to the very last. There were tears again at the parting, but the tears fell gently, and through them shone ever her smile. A few short days Larry spent at his home moving about among those that were dearer to him than his own life, wondering the while at their courage and patience and power to sacrifice. In his father he seemed to discover a new man, so concentrated was he in his devotion to business, and so wise, his only regret being that he could not don the king's uniform. With Kathleen he spent many hours. Not once throughout all these days did she falter in her steady, calm endurance, and in her patient devotion to duty. Without tears, without a word of repining against her cruel fate, with hardly a suggestion, indeed, of her irreparable loss, she talked to him of her husband and of his glorious death.