spirit of youth fluttering still around the grave of one whom it
loved!

I soon found myself talking to them; the old lady was glad to talk to
me, for she was not making much headway with her companion, on whom
all her arguments were beating in vain.

"I tell her she has no call to be feeling so bad about the war!" she
began, getting right into the heart of the subject; "we didn't start
it! Let the Kings and Kaisers and Czars who make the trouble do the
fretting. Thank God, none of them are any blood-relation of mine,
anyway. I won't fret over any one's sins, only my own, and maybe I
don't fret half enough over them, either!"

"What do you know about sins?" the other woman said; "you couldn't sin
if you tried----"

"That's all you know about it," said the old lady with what was
intended for a dark and mysterious look; "but I never could see what
good it does to worry, anyway, and bother other people by feeling
sorry. Now, here she is worrying night and day because her boy is in
the army and will have to go to France pretty soon. She has two others
at home, too young to go. Harry is still safe in England--he may never
have to go: the war may be over--the Kaiser may fall and break his
neck--there's lots of ways peace may come. Even if Harry does go, he
may not get killed. He may only get his toe off, or his little finger,
and come home, or he may escape everything. Some do. Even if he is
killed--every one has to die, and no one can die a better way; and
Harry is ready--good and ready! So why does she fret? I know she's had
trouble--lots of it--Lord, haven't we all? My three boys went--two