"Be quiet now, lass."
"But He does?" persisted the child.
"Aye, He does."
"Then if Bob were killed, mother, he'll sure be comin' t' see us. His angel'd never be restin' easy in heaven wi'out comin' t' see us, for he knows how sore we longs t' see un."
The mother drew the child to her heart and sobbed.