“There are many people here in America,” He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, “who say this is not our war. Perhaps it is not. Who knows? That question must be decided by older, wiser heads than mine. But as for me,” his shoulders straightened, “this _is_ my war. And I’m going back.” “I’m glad,” she whispered. “You’ll come to America again sometime,” he whispered after a while. “Yes, I hope so.” “Perhaps for good and all?” His voice was low. “Who knows?” She was staring dreamily at the lovely landscape. Perhaps she was seeing into the future. If so, what did she see? Dave dared not ask. Had he but known it, at that moment words from a very old book were running through Cherry’s mind, “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried.” And so that bright day grew dim with the shades of night. Transcriber’s Notes --Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication. --Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged. --Left unchanged the hopelessly confused quotation marks around the quoted song on page 237. --In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wings over England, by Roy Judson Snell