"My faith be gone, sir. It may come back wi' Alferd. And feeling so bitter as I do about William Saint, who be stealing my boy's business, who be letting others fight for him, and making a fortin for hisself, can I kneel at God's Table?" "No." "What be I to do? Go to church, a whited sepulchre, and pretend that I be a Christian 'ooman? Do 'ee ask me to do that for sake of others?" Hamlin remained silent. She continued, more calmly: "I can't bring myself to go church along, although I'd be pleased to oblige you, sir." "It is no question of obliging me, Mrs. Yellam. Aren't you adding to your heavy burden instead of sharing it with One Who laid it upon you and Who alone can lighten it?" Grievously she shook her head. Hamlin took his leave. As he walked away, he muttered to himself: "Civil War--devastating Civil War raging in that poor old heart." He returned to the Vicarage with his mind dwelling upon the eternal conflict, a conflict accentuated by the world-war, because its issues seemed to enrich or impoverish everybody. By it, without a doubt, Susan Yellam had been impoverished. He himself was conscious of enrichment. But--he had not lost a son. He had five children. After tea Fancy cycled down, as usual, to the Yellam cottage. Solomon received her boisterously. She made sure that good news awaited her. A glance at Mrs. Yellam's set face put to flight her hopes. No news had come. Mrs. Yellam greeted the girl perfunctorily, and then said sharply: "Have you brought 'em?" "Yes," said Fancy. She took from a small hand-bag a much-used pack of cards. Mrs. Yellam had cleared a space upon the kitchen-table. "Set 'em out," she commanded. Fancy sat down, and began to shuffle the pack. Hamlin would have smiled sorrowfully, had he seen Mrs. Yellam's intent face as the girl's slim fingers dealt out the cards. So it had come to this. Rejecting the faith of sixty years, this poor old woman asked for hope and happiness from a fortuitous arrangement of bits of painted pasteboard! Comedy upon the underlying tragedy. Hamlin knew, of course, that astrologers, mediums, crystal-gazers and the like were doing a roaring trade. Mrs. Yellam, let it be noted, asked Fancy to bring the cards. Protest had quivered upon Fancy's lips and stayed there. "Well?" "It is well, Mother. Alfred will come back. This makes the third time; and, do you know, when I rode up Sol barked and wagged his tail." "Did he? The dog be full o' fun now." Fancy went down on her knees; Sol barked at her, and then began to race round the room, playing what Fancy called "mad dog." He ended by leaping, panting, into Mrs. Yellam's lap. "I believe he knows something, Fancy." "I'm sure he does. Would he carry on like that if--if Alfred was real bad?" Thus each woman, in her artless way, consoled the other. Upon the Tuesday, details reached Mrs. Yellam. Alfred had been shot in the arm; the bone was badly broken; his destination was Netley.