peaceful lives, should be snatched from home, here in America, and
pitched into the ghastly struggle of Europe. Push back the ocean as she
might, the ocean surged every day nearer.

Daytimes she was as brave as the best. She could say: "If we had done it
the day after the _Lusitania_, that would have been right. It would have
been all over now." She could say: "My boys? They will do their duty
like other women's boys." But nights, when she crept into bed and the
things she had read of Belgium, of Serbia, came and stood about her, she
knew that hers were the only boys in the world who could not, _could_
not be spared. Brock and Hugh! It seemed as if it would be apparent to
the dullest that Brock and Hugh were different from all others. She
could suffer; she could have gone over there light-hearted and faced any
danger to save _them_. Of course! That was natural! But--Brock and Hugh!
The little heads that had lain in the hollow of her arm; the noisy
little boys who had muddied their white clothes, and broken furniture,
and spilled ink; the tall, beautiful lads who had been her pride and her
everlasting joy, her playmates, her lovers--Brock and Hugh! Why, there
had never been on earth love and friendship in any family close and
unfailing like that of the four.

Night after night, nearer and nearer, the ghosts from Belgium and Serbia
and Poland stood about her bed, and she fought with them as one had
fought with the beasts at Ephesus. Day after day she cheered Brock and
the two Hughs and filled them with fresh patriotism. Of course, she
would not have her own fail in a hair's breadth of eager service to
their flag. Of course! And as she lifted up, for their sakes, her
heart, behold a miracle, for her heart grew high! She began to feel the
words she said. It came to her in very truth that to have the world as
one wanted it was not now the point; the point was a greater goal which