afterwards wrote from a prison camp in Germany, and she clung to this
precedent with a confident tenacity that we did not try to weaken. It was
foolish, of course, we said. She was pinning her faith to a case in a
thousand; but the hope gave the women something to live for, and the wound
would heal the better for the illusion.

And, after all, she was right. This morning we saw the postman call at the
cottage. He handed a post card to the wife, and it was evident that
something wonderful and radiant had happened. The women fell on each other
"laughing happy." No more going into the house to shut the door on the
world. They came out to share the great tidings with their neighbours.
"David is alive! David is a prisoner in Germany.... He's wounded.... But
he's going on all right.... He can't write yet.... But he will."

Yes, there was the post card all right. The English was not very good and
the script was German, but the fact that David was alive in hospital shone
clear and indisputable.

"It's as though he's raised from the dead," cried the wife through her
tears.

The joy of the old mother was touched with solemnity. She is a great
chapel-goer, and her utterance is naturally coloured by the Book with which
she is most familiar.

"My son was dead, and is alive again," she said simply; "he was lost and is
found."

When I went out into the orchard and saw the red-cheeked apples still
clinging to the topmost branches I thought, "Perhaps David will be able to