"Reckon he never wrote you or told you what he did in the war," declared
Mrs. Hutter.

"Indeed he never did!"

"Well, I'll tell you some day. For Tom found out all about him. Got some of
it from a soldier who came to Flagstaff for lung trouble. He'd been in the
same company with Glenn. We didn't know this boy's name while he was in
Flagstaff. But later Tom found out. John Henderson. He was only twenty-two,
a fine lad. An' he died in Phoenix. We tried to get him out here. But the
boy wouldn't live on charity. He was always expectin' money--a war bonus,
whatever that was. It didn't come. He was a clerk at the El Tovar for a
while. Then he came to Flagstaff. But it was too cold an' he stayed there
too long."

"Too bad," rejoined Carley, thoughtfully. This information as to the
suffering of American soldiers had augmented during the last few months,
and seemed to possess strange, poignant power to depress Carley. Always she
had turned away from the unpleasant. And the misery of unfortunates was as
disturbing almost as direct contact with disease and squalor. But it had
begun to dawn upon Carley that there might occur circumstances of life, in
every way affronting her comfort and happiness, which it would be impossible
to turn her back upon.

At this juncture Flo returned to the room, and again Carley was struck with
the girl's singular freedom of movement and the sense of sure poise and joy
that seemed to emanate from her presence.

"I've made a fire in your little stove," she said. "There's water heating.