“Oh, I suppose so, Laura–but he approximates both at times,” piped the father raspingly.
“Father–listen here–listen to me, dear. I know Grant–I’ve known him always. This is what is the matter with Grant. I don’t think one act in all his life was based on a selfish or an ulterior motive. He has spent his life lavishly for others. He has given himself without let or hindrance for his ideals–he gave up power and personal glory–all for this cause of labor. He has been maimed and broken for it–has failed for it; and now you see what clouds are gathering above him–and I must go to him. I must be with him.”
“But for what good, Laura?” asked her father impatiently.
“For my own soul’s good and glory, dear,” she answered solemnly. “To live my faith; to stand by the people with whom I have cast my lot; to share the great joy that I know is in Grant’s heart–the joy of serving; to triumph in his failure if it comes to that!–to be happy–with him, as I know him no matter what chance and circumstance surround him. Oh–father–”
She looked up with brimming eyes and clasped his hand tightly while she cried: “I must go–Oh, bless me as I go–” And the father kissed her forehead.
An hour later, while Grant Adams, in his office, was giving 557directions for the afternoon parade a white-clad figure brightened the doorway.
“Well, Grant, I have come to serve,” she smiled, “under you.”
He turned and rose and took her hands in his one flinty hand and said quietly: “We need you–we need you badly right this minute.”
She answered, “Very well, then–I’m ready!”
“Well, go out and work–talk peace, don’t let them fight, hold the line calm and we’ll win,” he said.