“Grandmother,” he said, laying one hand on her shoulder, and bending his face to meet her startled glance, for his voice troubled her, “grandmother, let me put my arms around you and lay your head on my shoulder. It reaches high enough. I am almost a man now. Let me kiss you, grandmother.” She lifted up her sweet, old face, and the boy kissed it, his lips quivering all the time. “Grandmother!” “Well, darling!” “Grandmother!” “What is the matter, Robert? This has been such a pleasant night; but you seem troubled—what is it?” The boy fell down upon his knees, and cried out in a wild burst of grief. “Oh, Anna, Anna! tell her that our father is killed! I cannot do it. Oh, I cannot!” Anna came forward and fell on her knees by his side; but she said nothing, the mournful truth had struck home in the passionate words which Robert had uttered. The old woman clasped her withered hands quickly, and held them a moment locked and still. Then her head fell back, her meek eyes closed, and two great tears broke from under the lashes, and quivered away among the wrinkles on her cheeks. Her lips moved faintly; and the children, who knelt with their awe-stricken faces lifted piteously to hers, knew that she was praying. Little Joseph crept close to his grandmother, and stole his arm around her neck. She bent down her head and rested it against his, praying still. Never, in this world, was grief so intense, and yet so noiseless. At last the old woman unlocked her hands, and laid them on the young heads bowed before her. “Children,” she said, in her meek, low voice, “God knows best what is good for us.” “Oh, grandmother!” cried Robert, “shall we ever see him again?” “All—all; and I very soon,” answered the old lady. “Oh, grandma! don’t talk so; we could not live without you,” said Anna, in a burst of tender grief. “Remember, my darlings, when death divides a family, it is not forever. How lonely it would be if no one we love were on the other side of the grave to meet us when we go there.” “All the brave soldiers that died on that battle-field will bear him company,” said Robert. “And mother—will she be there to meet him?” said little Joseph, in a low voice. “I remember her so well!” Anna lifted her face from her grandmother’s lap, and, reaching up her lips, kissed the child. “Yes, Joseph, dear, they are together now. It is only their poor children who are lonely.” “And grandmother!” said Joseph. “Grandmother can live or die, as God wills,” answered that meek, old woman. “Here, she has three dear, dear grandchildren. There, she has them.” The children had almost stopped weeping. There was something almost holy in the calm of that gentle woman’s grief that subdued theirs into sadness. “He died for his country!” said Robert, with a gleam of pride. “Died bravely, I know.” “How glad mother must have been when he came,” whispered Joseph. “I wonder if they thought of us.”