“My dear woman, what is it?� asked Mr. Harvie.
“Oh!� she gasped out the awful news. “They’ve got him; those terrible Catholics. Read—you read for yourself.�
She handed him the letter and sat there sobbing with her face buried in her apron.
As Mr. Harvie read Fayett’s letter, his face cleared and he set his lips to keep back a smile.
“Don’t cry, Mrs. Mallett,� he said gently. “You’ve reason to be glad and proud of your son. And I’m sure he’s just as good a Presbyterian as when he was here in the Village Sunday school. He——�
“But they’ve give him their cross; he too-ook it!� she sobbed.
“It was given not as a symbol of religion, but as a token of valor,� he explained. “Don’t you see what he says in this sentence or two?—that he went under fire from his refuge in a trench to the rescue of two wounded men in a disabled tank.�
“He had to help them out; they couldn’t get away,� she said.
“Just so; and he saved them at the risk of his own life. That is why this Croix de Guerre was given. Fayett is a hero.�
“Course he is. Did they think he was a coward?� she asked indignantly. “But he ain’t any better’n Jack. And Jack, my little Jack, is in this new draft.�