Personally, I would just as soon leave it unelucidated. There are certain moods in which I do not want such things as nature, and love, and beauty, and self-sacrifice explained. It is enough for me that they are, and that I have been permitted to enjoy them.
And although I know that the Little People are not necessarily wearing gauze wings and white frocks and stars in their hair, as I pictured them in my first childhood, I still like to think that even in the brooks something is singing, something rejoicing, something giving thanks for the gift of life.
XI
The Funeral of the Hero
It was three months after the funeral of the Village Hero. Now I come to think of it, I haven’t mentioned the funeral before.
The hero, a porter at the little railway station, enlisted very early in the campaign. Our village—in the main—did nobly in the way of early enlistment.
A quiet, retiring young fellow, he had never singled himself out for any sort of notoriety, though I, personally, had always remarked on his unvarying courtesy and his willingness to do everything he could to assist passengers.