"I want him here. Doesn't Mother want him here?"
"Well—yes."
"Is she glad to have him go to Paradise?"
"Not exactly—glad."
"Was that why she was crying?"
"Yes. Of course she will miss him, but it is a wonderful thing just the same, Teddy, when you think of it—when you think of how your own father went over to France because he was sorry for all the poor little children who had been hurt, and for all the people who had suffered and suffered until it seemed as if they must not suffer any more—and he wanted to help them, and—and—"
But here he stumbled and stopped. "I tell you, Teddy," he said, as man to man, "it is going to hurt awfully, not to see him. But you've got to be careful not to be too sorry—because there's your Mother to think of."
"Is she crying now?"
"Yes. Down there on her bed. Could you be very brave if you went down, and told her not to be sorry?"
"Brave, like my Daddy?"