And then, knowing him as well as I do, knowing exactly how he always responded, in such a common-sense, matter-of-fact way, I could imagine the answer he would make were I to tell him of Mrs. Tupman's request.
"Why, sure!" he'd say. "Tell the story of the little pigeon, and make it such a ripping good one there won't be a dry eye in the house. It'll give the little fellow the chance for another flight. Every stamp they sell will be in answer to an S.O.S. call of some kind, and if it's the bird that makes them buy, it'll be just the same as if his own little wings had carried the message."
The thought cheered me up so much that I went straight home and telephoned to Mrs. Tupman that I'd reconsidered, and I'd gladly do what she asked me to.
Since then I've taken to going out in the boat whenever my courage is at low ebb. Out there on the water, in the peace of the vast twilight dropping down on the sea, I can conjure up that sense of his nearness as nowhere else. It has the same effect on my feverish spirit as if his big firm hand closed gently over mine. It quiets my forebodings. It steadies me. It makes me know past all doubting that no matter what has happened, he is still mine. His love abides. Death cannot take that.
Oh, what does a person do who is so glad—so crazy glad that he must find vent for his joy, when there are no words made great enough to express it? We've had news of Richard! He's safe! He escaped from a German prison camp. That's all we know now, but it is all of heaven to know that much.
The news of his safety came as suddenly as the word that he was missing. Tippy called me to come down to the telephone. Long distance wanted me. It was "Cousin James." He had a cablegram from that Canadian friend of Richard's. We had an expensive little jubilee for a while there. You don't think of how much it's costing a minute when you're talking about the dead coming to life. It was as wonderful as that.
"Cousin James" said undoubtedly we would have letters soon. The fact that Richard had not cabled for himself, made him afraid that he was laid up for repairs. He was probably half-starved and weak to the point of exhaustion from all he'd gone through in making his escape. So we must have patience if we didn't hear right away. We could wait for details now that we had the greatest news of all, and so forth and so on.
The moment he rang off I started down to Uncle Darcy's, telling Tippy all there was to tell, as I clapped on my hat and hurried through the hall. I started down the back street half running. The baker's cart gave me a lift down Bradford Street. I was almost breathless when I reached the gate.
Uncle Darcy was dozing in his arm-chair set out in the dooryard. There flashed into my mind that day long ago, when his hopes found happy fulfillment and Dan came home. That day Father came back from China and we all went out to meet the ship and came ashore in the motor boat. And now I called out to him what I had called to him then, through the dashing spray and the noise of the wind and waves and motor: