There were few things which happened in that house of which Anne Caspar was not aware. That morning on rising she had missed her husband's watch on the dressing-table--and had said nothing. Later she had found the pawn-ticket in the tankard--and again had held her peace. A wife before all things, yet to some extent a mother, she had known, had understood, had perhaps sympathized. CHAPTER XVII ERNIE GOES FOR A SOLDIER Next day, after dinner, when she heard Ern's feet slowly descending the stairs, and knew he was coming to say good-bye, Anne Caspar shoved Alf roughly out of the kitchen. "You wait your brother outside," she said. "Take his bag now, and carry it to the bus for him. Be a brother for once!" "Well, I was going to," answered Alf, aggrieved. Since the catastrophe he had kept discreetly in the background. Ern entered the kitchen, uncertain of himself, uncertain of his reception; but, true to the best that was in him, trying to carry a pale feather of gallantry. "I guess it's about time to be off, mum," he remarked huskily. His mother shut the door behind him gently, and drew him to her. "Kiss me, Ern," she said. The boy gasped and obeyed. "Now go and say good-bye to dad," continued his mother, quiet, firm, authoritative. As he went into the passage, he heard the kitchen-door close behind him. Ern was his father's son, and nothing was to be allowed to intrude in the parting between the two. Edward Caspar stood before the fire in quilted dressing-gown, somewhat faded now. In its appointed place on the chair beside his chair lay the familiar manuscript, much as Ern had known it since his childhood, save that the titles on the covering page were typewritten now--_The Philosophy of Mysticism, Part I, The Basis of Animism_. His father's colourless hair was greying fast and becoming sparse; while his always ungainly figure was losing any shape it had ever possessed. At fifty Edward Caspar was already old. But age had enhanced the wistfulness which had marked him, even in youth. His was the face of a man who has failed, and is conscious of his failure; but it was the face of a Christian, gentle and very sad. Here clearly was a man of immense parts, scholar, thinker, artist, who, somehow baffled by the wiles of Nature, had failed to make good. Yet in spite of his failure there were few who could more surely rely upon the limitless resources of the Spirit in the hour of his need than Edward Caspar. And now in this great moment of his life, when he was parting from his dearest, he summoned to his aid all the powers that, massed unseen in the silence, await our call. There was a wonderful dignity and restraint about him. Ern, the most intuitive of lads, felt it and drew from his father's strength. Simply and beautifully father and son kissed. A moment the eyes of each rested in the other's. Then it was over. No one of us is entirely inhuman.