He commenced reading:—
"My dear Patrick,—I got your letter yesterday, and whenever I was my lone the day I was always reading it. I wish the black war was over and you back again—we all at home wish that, and I suppose yourself wishes it as well; I was up at your house last night; there's not much fun in it now. I read the papers to your mother, and me and her was looking at a map. But we didn't know where you were so we could only make guesses. Your mother and me is making the Rounds of the Cross for you, and I am always thinking of you in my prayers. You'll be having the parcel I sent before you get this letter. I hope it's not broken or lost. The socks I sent were knitted by myself, three pairs of them, and I've put the holy water on them. Don't forget to put them on when your feet get wet, at home you never used to bother about anything like that; just tear about the same in wet as dry. But you'll take care of yourself now, won't you: and not get killed? It'll be a grand day when you come back, and God send the day to come soon! Send a letter as often as you can; I myself will write you one every day, and I'll pray to the Holy Mother to take care of you."
We buried him behind the parados, and placed the rosary round the arms of the cross which was erected over him. On the following day one of our men went out to see the grave, and while stooping to place some flowers on it he got shot through the head. That evening he was buried beside the Munster Fusilier.
(Patrick MacGill tells many heart stories of the trenches in "The Red Horizon." He tells of "The Night Before the Trenches"; "A Dugout Banquet"; "A Nocturnal Adventure"; "Everyday Life at the Front"; "The Women of France"—his genius is immortalizing every human phase of the War.)
FOOTNOTES:
[17] All numerals relate to stories herein told—not to chapters from original sources.