“To be near thee, loved one, I have arranged, through the gracious kindness of our friends, to come to Berlin as a nurse. Just when is as yet uncertain, but come I will, fear not, as quickly as may be. Dost long for me, to see me, dearest heart, as I for thee? Well, soon perhaps that may not be so far away. Couldst not thou arrange to be wounded—only slightly, of course, my love—so that I might attend thee?”
The letter ended with tender love messages and assurances of devotion. The last sheet bore a single word, “Over,” and on the reverse side a woman’s most important news, a postscript. This read:
“P. S. Arrangements have been completed. Everything is settled. Even my father has consented, knowing of my great love. I sail next week.”
And then:
“N. B. The ship on which I sail is the Seronica.”
THE CLEAREST CALL
By Brevard Mays Connor
“Don’t worry,” said the great surgeon. “She will pull through. She has a fine constitution.”
“She will pull through because you are handling the case,” the nurse murmured, with an admiring glance.
“She will pull through,” agreed the Reverend Paul Templeton, “because I shall pray.”