"Do you think daddy will like that letter?" she asked.
Her mother's voice was a bit uneven as she answered.
"I'm sure he will, little sweetheart I'm sure he will."
"Now," requested the child, "you read yours."
Kathryn, drawing the child to her, bent forward. There was much in her heart—much that she might not tell to anyone of all the world save two— and one of these was far away; and, even though the other could not understand, still—
She read:
"My John: You know how we love you, but you don't know how we miss you. Please, please come back to us. If it weren't for Muriel I don't know what I'd do, John, dear. I don't want to make you unhappy. I want you to have all the honors—all the prominence—everything that a man's heart holds dear. But I can't help being jealous a little of the things that are keeping you from us…."
She ceased, turning her head away. A robin, in the roses, lifting its head, broke into song. The child waited, patiently…. At length she inquired:
"Is that all, mother dear?"
Kathryn nodded. "Yes, honey."