On her own responsibility Lilly had employed this subterfuge with Mrs. Schum. Slowly as she came clutching back at consciousness, the name of her grandson more and more on her twisted lips, Lilly whispered it down to her, closing her hand over the tired old bony one.
"Listen, dear Mrs. Schum, I've—news for you."
"They're all against him—"
"No, no, dear. While you've been so ill, what we had hoped for has happened. Harry's been accepted, dear—he's enlisted."
She crinkled her brow, trying to understand.
"They wouldn't take him. He wanted to fight for his country. They were all against him—"
"No, no, dear. It's all different now. Since our country is at war Harry has been accepted. The boys were rushed overnight to training camp. Thousands of them. He came weeks ago to tell you good-by, but you were too ill to know. He's on a transport now, dear, sailing to fight for his country. Aren't you proud? Aren't we all proud?"
The poor hands began to tremble, feeling their way up along Lilly's arm.
"Harry's gone—to war?"
"Y-yes—dear."