All the Camerons, you see, knew perfectly well what happens to an aviator whose machine catches fire.
“If that machine was Pete’s,” Father Bob mused, “Hun aviators may drop word of him within our lines. They have done that kind of thing before.”
“Wouldn’t Bob cable, if he knew anything more than this letter says?” Gertrude questioned.
“I expect Bob’s waiting to find out something certain before he cables,” said Father Bob. “Doubtless he has written. We shall just have to wait for his letter.”
“Wait! Gee!” whispered Henry.
“Both the boys’ letters were so awfully late, in the summer!” sighed Gertrude. “However can we wait for a letter from Bob?”
Elliott said nothing at all. Her heart 251 was aching with sympathy for Bruce. When a person could do something, she thought, it helped tremendously. Mother Jess and Laura had gone to Sidney and she had had a chance to make Laura’s going possible, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do for Bruce. And she wished to do something for Bruce; she found that she wished to tremendously. Thinking about Mother Jess and Laura reminded her to look up and ask, “What are we going to write them at Camp Devens?”
Then she discovered that she and Bruce were alone in the room. He was sitting at Mother Jess’s desk, in as deep a brown study as she had been. The girl’s voice roused him.
“The kind of thing we’ve been writing—home news. Time enough to tell them about Pete when they get here. By that time, perhaps, there will be something definite to tell.” He hesitated a 252 minute. “Laura is going to feel pretty well cut up over this.”
Elliott looked up quickly. “Especially cut up?”