Nancy glanced at her friend’s strong, kindly face, and asked, “What makes you think that way, Miss Anna?”
“I’ve never lost the feeling since I first learned his plane had gone down over enemy territory. Then the other night I had such a vivid dream.”
“A dream?” Suddenly Nancy recalled that one of Miss Anna’s lectures had been on the significance and meaning of dreams. She added her own illuminating interpretation to what the psychologists had learned on the subject.
“I thought I was moving through the jungle, trying to locate a voice that was calling me. Then as I went nearer I recognized it as Tommy’s. He was burning with fever and I brought him water from a spring. I was so distressed because the water didn’t quench his thirst. Then I woke suddenly with his words ringing in my ears, ‘Thank you just the same, Miss Anna.’ I’ve hoped all along that Tommy survived a forced landing. Since that dream I’ve felt certain that he is alive.”
Tears were shining in Nancy’s eyes as she said, “You really are a comfort, Miss Anna.”
Her friend went to a near-by bookcase and took out a small volume of poetry. “Here are some verses written by Anna Bright, a friend of mine who lost her son in the last war. Instead of grieving, she used her genius to give comfort to those who had had similar sorrows. Listen to this:
“‘Were he dead, could I weep
For one who gladly bore
A cross that I might sleep
In peace? Could I shed tears