"Oh, those lines from the 'Dirge for the Dead'? I copied them out of your book this morning to send in to Mrs. Orme, to comfort her about poor Harry. I forgot them."
Little Yeogh Wough read the lines aloud, very softly:
"They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them——"
I slipped to my knees beside him and laid my head against his shoulder.
"Would they comfort you if I were to be killed?" he asked.
"Yes, they would—as much as anything could."
His eyes looked into mine curiously.