"
Editha saw now where George's irony came from.
"It was not to be read before--unless--until--I told him so," she
faltered.
"Of course, he wouldn't read a letter of yours, under the circumstances,
till he thought you wanted him to. Been sick?" the woman abruptly
demanded.
"Very sick," Editha said, with self-pity.
"Daughter's life," her father interposed, "was almost despaired of, at
one time."
Mrs. Gearson gave him no heed. "I suppose you would have been glad to
die, such a brave person as you! I don't believe _he_ was glad to die.
He was always a timid boy, that way; he was afraid of a good many
things; but if he was afraid he did what he made up his mind to. I
suppose he made up his mind to go, but I knew what it cost him by what
it cost me when I heard of it. I had been through _one_ war before.
When you sent him you didn't expect he would get killed."
The voice seemed to compassionate Editha, and it was time. "No," she
huskily murmured.
"No, girls don't; women don't, when they give their men up to their
country. They think they'll come marching back, somehow, just as gay as
they went, or if it's an empty sleeve, or even an empty pantaloon, it's
all the more glory, and they're so much the prouder of them, poor
things!"
The tears began to run down Editha's face; she had not wept till then;
but it was now such a relief to be understood that the tears came.
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