“If Edwy were here, dearest, he would ask his friend, why? And he would wait for you to answer his loving question, but I think I know.”
“How do any of us know, when our boys come to be grown men, what may they not have to do to hold such liberty sacred? Can we be sure that their beautiful lives might not have to pay the toll of enrollment for their sacred trust—for their country?”
It was a thought she would not leave in a moment.
“If both boys were here, dear, they would remind you of the Shepherd’s story, which you have so often told them.”
By way of taking her mind from life’s strange vicissitudes, Aida called her attention to the fact of Zephyr’s disappearance. Where could it have gone?
The little creature never seemed to have felt quite so much at home as at the North. It had missed the lake, the boats and the merry voices of the two boys, as they came between the two camps, with the sound of beating oars. Sure enough, Zephyr had gone without even touching her breakfast.
Just at that moment a little girl came along the garden walk, stepping over the bank beside Aida’s lovely flowers, many of them still blooming although so late in the autumn.
“I’ve brought your Kitty home,” she said gently. “But she loves to stay right in my arms. I found her in the schoolroom, and I don’t believe she would have been afraid of any of the boys for they all petted her, but the teacher was having them say some dates in unison, and it made such a racket that she came running to me, and I knew just who owned her, for I had seen her in your garden.”
“O, thank you a thousand times! Zephyr shall know you as her little friend.”
“May I take her to school again?”