"I only meant that your grove is valuable," he explained kindly. "Do not forget that. Some time you might want money. I did not know whether you realized how much a big grove of full grown mulberry trees is worth." "I never thought anything about it," was Pierre's thoughtful reply. "Our trees have never seemed to me anything I could sell. I thought only of gathering the leaves for our own use." "Well, just remember that your silk-house and your trees are worth a good sum to a silk-grower. In these uncertain days of war one can never tell when money may be needed. Of course you might not be able to get such a good price for your property now, because France is poor, and everything is selling for less than usual--everything except food. Still, if you found the right customer you should be able to make a good many francs out of your homestead." "It isn't mine," Pierre answered gaily, as if suddenly coming to himself. "It belongs half to my uncle and half to my father. What do you suppose they would say when they came back from the war if they found I had sold their mulberry grove and silk-house?" "If you needed money for your mother and little sister they would probably feel you had done wisely, even though it caused them disappointment to see their cherished possessions in the hands of others. And if," added the elder boy gravely, "anything happened to them how glad they would be that those they loved were not left penniless." "Anything happen to them!" Pierre's face paled. He had never, strangely enough, pictured such a calamity. _His father! His uncle!_ True, other men were injured fighting for France, thousands of them. But surely no harm could come to _his_ family. Those he loved would return when peace came; take up life where they had left it; and the home would once more be united. The boy glanced up to find Henri studying his face sympathetically. "I did not mean to make you sad, little brother," declared the elder lad softly. "The father and uncle will without doubt come again just as you say. But must we not all be brave enough to look at things squarely and with courage? Now that your father is gone to the war you have a man's work to do. Surely you are going to meet life like a man, not as a child. Forgive me if what I have said has hurt you." With instant friendliness Pierre put out his hand. "You have not hurt me," he returned quickly. "You have just set me to thinking. I'm afraid I have been pretty thoughtless. My mother must have had fears and have been worrying; yet so bravely has she kept it to herself that she has shown Marie and me only her joyous side. I might have helped her had I realized this before. She has always treated my sister and me as children, keeping from us everything that was hard. But I'll prove to her in future that I, at least, am no longer a child. Thanks to you, Henri, I will go home to Bellerivre not only wiser about silk-growing but wiser, I hope, about life."