Friday night after her grandmother was in bed and asleep, she went out upon Big Rock and in the quiet of the night listened for her voices, but they would not come. For more than an hour she cried, her frame shaking with sobs and low, gasping moans. Then she was still a long time—thinking of what life had been, what it now was, and hereafter would be to her broken soul. Gradually she drew out from under the shadow of her sorrow, until instead of being overwhelmed by it, it was a sorrow which her soul possessed. She began to think that the wound might some day close but she knew her heart would always bear the scar and her days never again be quite so bright. She found that although she was still unhappy she was consoled, and thanked God that she had this man’s friendship, perhaps his love; and began to look upon death as a very simple affair; the soul shedding the shackles of flesh. She slept. In her dreams the voices came back; and her sorrows were cast off as one does a cloak, serviceable in a shower, but when the sun comes out an uncomfortable burden. Past midnight she awoke, stiff and sore from her hard bed, and went to the house. Sunday afternoon, she wrote Mrs. Allen: “About four years ago, your son on his way to Hyden, asked for and found shelter for the night at our home. Ten days later he sent us a few little things; among them my first real dolls. I have never seen him since except as fancy pictured nor heard his voice as a materialist may hear, though many times it seemed he spoke to me in a way I cannot explain. I have four letters; they are the four treasures of my life. “His death is my greatest loss; and through life I shall carry a scar from the wound. But what I suffer is not worth mentioning when compared with the grief his mother must feel. She who gave him life; who felt his little chubby, helpless hands moving about over her breasts seeking his food; who taught him to stand alone; to walk; to lisp his first words; who tried to teach him first to say father, but nature and his own heart put the name of mother in his mind and in his mouth. Then you taught him to say his prayers; and those prayers have been answered. He prayed: ‘Thy kingdom come,’—and it has come for him; while you and I weep, refusing to be comforted; until we learn that those we love must pass to the other side, in order that His kingdom may come for us, and we escape death for ourselves and lose the fear of death for our dear ones. “It is thus we find happiness in our anguish; and love for God while we suffer from the raw realities of life; knowing he has found us worthy of both love and unhappiness. “How I shall love his books when they come. I hope he has marked the passages which pleased him and noted some of his own thoughts upon their margins.