We all hammered at the soldier's mother's door, and shouted--

'Come out! come out!' and when she opened the door we were going to
speak, but she pushed us away, and went tearing down the garden
path like winking. I never saw a grown-up woman run like it,
because she saw Bill coming.

She met him at the gate, running right into him, and caught hold of
him, and she cried much more than when she thought he was dead.

And we all shook his hand and said how glad we were.

The soldier's mother kept hold of him with both hands, and I
couldn't help looking at her face. It was like wax that had been
painted on both pink cheeks, and the eyes shining like candles.
And when we had all said how glad we were, she said--

'Thank the dear Lord for His mercies,' and she took her boy Bill
into the cottage and shut the door.

We went home and chopped up the tombstone with the wood-axe and had
a blazing big bonfire, and cheered till we could hardly speak.

The postcard was a mistake; he was only missing. There was a pipe
and a whole pound of tobacco left over from our keepsake to the
other soldiers. We gave it to Bill. Father is going to have him
for under-gardener when his wounds get well. He'll always be a bit
lame, so he cannot fight any more.