I can't help this, dad,--I try--but I am not strong
enough--I'm not holding back from the sacrifice, dad," hurrying his
words,--"No, no, not that, but perhaps you understand."
For answer, his father put both his arms around his son, drew his head
down to his breast, as if he had been a child.
"There, there, laddie," he said, patting him on the shoulder, "I know, I
know! Oh God, how I know. We have lived together very closely, without
a shadow ever between us, and my prayer, since this war began, has
been that in death, if it had to be, we might be together, and, Barry,
somehow I believe God will give us that."
"Good old dad, good old boy! What a brick you are! I couldn't help that,
dad. Forgive me for being a baby, and spoiling the day--"
"Forgive you, boy," still with his arms around his son, "Barry, I love
you for it. You've never brought me one sorrow nor will you. To-day and
every day I thank God for you, my son."
They rode back through the evening toward the camp. By the time they
arrived there, the sun had sunk behind the mountains, and the quiet
stars were riding serenely above the broken, floating clouds, and in
their hearts was peace.
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