The door opened softly, and her three little ones came quietly in and gathered about her. They had been taught thoughtfulness for others: Uncle Harold was ill, and they would not disturb him.
Leaning confidingly on her lap, lifting loving, trustful eyes to her face, "Mamma," they said, low and softly, "we have had our supper; will you come with us now?"
"Yes, dear, presently."
"Mamma," whispered little Elsie, with a wistful, tender gaze into the soft sweet eyes still swimming in tears, "dear mamma, something has made you sorry. What can I do to comfort you?"
"Love me, darling, and be good; you are mamma's precious little comforter. See dears," and she held the photograph so that all could have a view, "it is dear Uncle Walter in his soldier dress." A big tear rolled down her cheek.
"Mamma," Elsie said quickly, "how good he looks! and he is so happy where Jesus is."
"Yes, daughter, we need shed no tears for him."
"Dear Uncle Walter," "Poor Uncle Walter!" the other two were saying.
"There, papa has finished reading; go now and bid good-night to him and Uncle Harold," their mother said; and they hastened to obey.
They climbed their father's knees and hung about his neck with the most confiding affection, while he caressed them over and over again, Harold looking on with glistening eyes.