"'I can't help being afraid of what's in this particular letter'"
"What are you afraid it's going to do to you?"
"I—I don't know."
"Well, you just open it up and read it, and after you've opened it up, you'll just find you're sitting here the way you were before, with your grandma's arms around you."
Elizabeth pulled the kindly hand down to meet her lips.
"Well," she said, "I'm going to read it now."
Dear Little Sister:
I can't tell you how much I thank you for your two letters. They cured me. I've been seeing ghosts, but "being gone, I am a man again." I'm going to get my discharge if I have to bust the whole darned hospital, and I'm coming down to Cape Cod. While there, I shall tell you what I think of several things, including the opinion I have of a man who sits in a cloud of vapour all day in a United States Base Hospital, and lets things go some other man's way.
You tell Miss Ruth Farraday that it's never too late. No, don't tell her anything, but whenever you see the man in the case, stick out your sweet little tongue at him. I'm sick—sure I'm sick, but I'm a well man, just the same. You wait and see. I broke the news to Mother and she doesn't believe it. She thinks that I'm probably delirious. Father sees that something significant has happened, but doesn't believe that I can bust out so easy. You wait, dear.
Keep your eye on Ruth and report to me.
I love and admire you, and you are my own darling sister, for whom and which I devoutly thank whatever gods there be. I am the Captain of my Soul.
Your Buddy.
Elizabeth buried her face in the ample folds of her grandmother's white apron.
"He's better. He's going to get well," she sobbed. "Oh, dear, I was afraid I had killed him, but I didn't. I did him good."
"He needed something to rouse him," Grandmother said, "your mother says the doctor has been saying that for some time. I don't know how you've done it, but I guess you've turned the trick."