"That's decent," he answered, and then was still for quite a time.
"I've often wondered what was on the other side," he said at length. "I shall know presently."
"You are not afraid?" I whispered.
"No. Only sort of—curious. And—reverent. I guess it's reverent… You know I haven't been much on religion. Never seemed to get the formula. What is the formula? I mean the key—the thing that gives it all in one word?"
"In one word—sacrifice."
"I walked out of church once because of some doctrine about sacrifice," he continued. "I couldn't go it… And yet—there may be something in it. It's sacrifice here, Edith. War is sacrifice. Sacrifice for other people. It's not all on the surface. There's something deeper than we know."
"'He that loseth his life shall find it,'" I quoted.
He did not answer, but I could see his lips smiling again. His breath was more labored. A few drops of rain fell, and some of them spattered on his face.
Presently he chuckled. It was an eerie sensation, out on that broad plain of death, alone by the side of this man who was already far into the shadow,—to hear him chuckle.
"That splash of water—you remember—it made me think of the time we pulled the old car into the stream, and the harness broke, or something, and I had to carry you. You remember that, Reenie?" I could only say "Yes," and press his hand. His mind was back on the old, old trails.