"Yes," said the white-capped woman. "Out of it some good will come. Selfishness is going to be erased clean from the souls of many people by the time war is over."
"But we must pay a big price for all we gain from it."
"Yes—I wonder—I guess Davie will be going over soon. He said, you know, that if we don't hear from him for a while not to worry. I guess that means he thinks he'll be going over."
When, at length, news came from the other side it was Phœbe who was the bringer of the tidings.
"Oh, Mother Bab," she cried breathlessly one day in autumn as she ran back from the gate after a visit from the postman, "it's a letter from France!"
Phares Eby and his mother ran at the news and the four stood, an eager group, as Phœbe opened the letter.
"Read it, Phœbe! He's over safely!" Mother Bab's voice was eager.
"I—I can't read it. I'm too excited. I can't get my breath. You read it, Phares."
The preacher read in his slow, calm way.
"Somewhere in France.