During the day I often walked up and down the old rose garden of the curé. It was a beautiful old garden with high stone walls, against which pear trees and peach trees had been trained to grow so that the branches spread out against the wall. There were roses here of almost every variety. Often, as I walked up and down the paths of the garden reading my Breviary, I stopped and gazed for a long time on the wonderful beauty before me. Soon we would be into the war again!
Chapter LXXXVI
Letters of Sympathy
During these days of rest I devoted a large portion of every morning to writing letters of sympathy to relatives of those who had fallen in the recent attacks. I had many of these letters to write, and I always went to work with a heavy heart; but it was always very consoling to receive the wonderful replies that came. I quote from a few that I managed to keep, although the reader will learn later that I lost nearly all my possessions before the end of the campaign.
This one comes from Morningside Avenue, New York:
Reverend dear Father:
Your comforting letter has just been received. Father, words would be useless to try to express what relief and consolation your message brought, for naturally my heart ached, wondering whether my poor son had an opportunity to offer up his repentance before God took him.
The cross is indeed a heavy one to bear, but with the knowledge contained in your letter and the fact that his sacrifice was made for so glorious a cause, I shall reconcile myself to the will of Almighty God, and pray for the repose of his soul.
My daily prayers shall indeed be offered for you, Father, who brought such happiness to my heart, and for your many soldier boys.
Very sincerely yours,
The next is from Frontenac Street, Montreal: