"Dear grandmother, there has not been a morning nor night but that I have remembered him and his generous deed. I know his life was as precious to you as Uncle Robert's was to us, and now poor little Ethel is an orphan—for my sake. How strange that the whole world keeps doing for one another, and that, after all, no one really stands alone in it!"
"We are nearer than we think for—rich and poor, when one takes God's word aright. We can't any of us do without the other unless there comes a sense of loss and something that is not quite right. You and yours see further into it than most folk. I'm glad to have the precious comfort of knowing that William went safely, and that in the other country he has met his dear wife. I shall soon go to them, and I know well that little Ethel will never lack for friends. William felt it with great certainty."
Another duty was laid upon Kathie. This orphan was to be more to her than any chance friend. What could she do of her own self? Only to show her now how truly she appreciated the sacrifice and loss, and to put a few simple pleasures in her life, to give her tenderness and affection that might make some slight amends.
She thought of something else that evening.
"Uncle Robert," she said, "do you believe there is any hope that Mr. Morrison may still be alive?"
"It is very slight now," he answered. "And yet I can hardly be reconciled to the loss amid this general rejoicing. It seems so much harder to have him dead now that the war is over and many of the soldiers will soon return home."
"I feel so sorry that he had to die out there alone. If some one could have given him only a cup of cold water—"
"Perhaps they did."