The soldier husband kissed away the bright tears which flowed down her cheeks.
“There, there, Annie, we are going to pray that I may come back to you very soon, when the war is over, and, think of it, little wife, I may bring back some stripes upon my sleeve, and you know that will mean honor for us all.”
“And reconciliation with my father,” sighed the girl.
The days seemed to fly between the time he was ordered away and the day that her husband started. Annie’s heart felt now that she had nothing to live for but the dear baby, which had filled up such a large gap in her life. Helen was now nearly two years old, and her mother over eighteen. She looked like a little girl herself, and few would believe that the large rosy baby was the offspring of the childish woman.
For two whole years the wife patiently waited, waited for the home-coming of the soldier. Twice she had written her father, and once had visited his home. She had been told by her cousin George that it was by the command of her father that she was sent from his door almost starving.
Again she waited, but as a reward for her patience there came a message from one of Victor’s companions that he had died after receiving a bullet in his body, and the only thing she had from that foreign country was a little package of her own letters and one partly finished by him to her.
The night she received the package she sat up long after Helen had retired, for the child was too young to understand the mother’s grief.
“If father would only let us come home,” whispered she after re-reading the letter. “I must do something, and my health is growing poorer every day.”
With this thought in her mind all the time, she one morning took her baby and went to her father’s home.
He surely would not send her away when he knew that her husband was dead, and that [she and Helen were starving.]