He had always been a comfort to her, even in the boisterous outbreaking days that are the most trying in a boy's growing-up time. There had never been a noisier boy, or one who threw himself into his play with more headlong vigor, but, in a flash, scene after scene passed through her mind, showing him both at work and play as she had prayed he might be, strong and manly and clean and absolutely fearless either of fists or opinions. Then she thought of his touching consideration of her when he tried "to take father's place behind the plow." He had been a tower of strength to her from that day on. What a future she had dreamed for him, and now in the high tide of his young manhood, when he should have years of conquest and achievement ahead of him, here he was a helpless cripple!
"Rest comes at last, though life be long and dreary,
The day must dawn, and darksome night be passed."
Her voice faltered almost to breaking now, as she sang on, rebelling at the thought that his life which promised so fair, should have been made long and dreary, changed so hopelessly and so suddenly into darksome night. It seemed so cruel, she thought, with a tightening of the throat which made it almost impossible to finish the song. But supposing from the peaceful expression of Jack's face that he was falling asleep, she sang bravely on to the end, although the tears were dropping down on the seam in her now idle hands.
"Angels sing on, your faithful watches keeping,
Sing us sweet fragments of the song above,
Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,
And life's long shadows break in cloudless love.
Angels of Jesus,
Angels of light,
Singing to welcome
The pilgrims of the night."
Looking across as the last note died away, she thought he was asleep, and rose to draw down the window-shade. But as she tiptoed past him he opened his eyes and held out his hand to draw her to him.
"Little mother," he said with a wistful smile that made her bend hastily over him and kiss his forehead to hide the trembling of her lips. "I'd like you to know in case anything should happen—sooner than we expect—that that's the way I think of death. It's a going out into the dark—but it's only going as a 'Pilgrim of the night.' I don't mind it. It'll not be lonesome. They'll be singing to welcome me."
In answer to her cry, "Oh, Jack! Don't!" he drew her cheek down against his, and as he felt it wet with tears he said, lightly:
"Why, mother mine, that's nothing to cry about. I've always looked forward in a way to that ever since I can remember. That song always brings up the most comforting picture to me—a procession of friendly white angels coming down the dark road to meet a frightened little boy and lead him home!"
She held him close a moment, not finding words wherewith to answer him, but feeling that he understood all that was left unspoken in her heart. She wanted to hold him thus, always, so tightly that he could not slip away on that pilgrimage he faced so confidently, that pilgrimage from which he could never return to her.
While she clung to him thus, a noise outside brought them back to the things of earth. An automobile, speeding up the road, had stopped at the gate. Mrs. Ware glanced out hastily. As she saw the three men striding up the path her first thought was one of housewifely dismay. She wondered how she could stretch the simple supper she had planned for that evening, into enough for these unexpected guests. If Jack had only given her a little longer notice—