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The bees were droning, and the gnats humming amongst the tall hollyhocks
and crimson and white roses close by; the birds were already twittering
their last 'good-nights' to one another, and a soft, peaceful spell
seemed to be falling on all around.

'I feel,' he said presently, as he gazed up into the still blue sky, 'as
if God is waiting for me, mother.'

Mrs. John did not answer. He added quickly, 'When did you enlist,
mother; long, long ago?'

'Yes, darling, just before I married your father.'

'And when did father enlist? When he was a little boy like me?'


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