Weeks before, she had written to Dorn and told him to hunt up Jim.  No reply had yet come from Dorn.  Every day augmented her uneasiness, until it was dreadful to look for letters that did not come.  All this fortified her, however, to expect calamity.  Like a bolt out of the clear sky it came in the shape of a telegram from Camp ——­ saying that Jim was dying.

The shock prostrated the mother.  Jim had been her favorite.  Mr. Anderson left at once for the East.  Lenore had the care of her mother and the management of “Many Waters” on her hands, which duties kept her mercifully occupied.  Mrs. Anderson, however, after a day, rallied surprisingly.  Lenore sensed in her mother the strength of the spirit that sacrificed to a noble and universal cause.  It seemed to be Mrs. Anderson’s conviction that Jim had been shot, or injured by accident in gun-training, or at least by a horse.  Lenore did not share her mother’s idea and was reluctant to dispel it.  On the evening of the fifth day after Mr. Anderson’s departure a message came, saying that he had arrived too late to see Jim alive.  Mrs. Anderson bore the news bravely, though she weakened perceptibly.

The family waited then for further news.  None came.  Day after day passed.  Then one evening, while Lenore strolled in the gloaming, Kathleen came running to burst out with the announcement of their father’s arrival.  He had telephoned from Vale for a car to meet him.

Not long after that, Lenore, who had gone to her room, heard the return of the car and recognized her father’s voice.  She ran down in time to see him being embraced by the girls, and her mother leaning with bowed head on his shoulder.

“Yes, I fetched Jim—­back,” he said, steadily, but very low.  “It’s all arranged....  An’ we’ll bury him to-morrow.”

“Oh—­dad!” cried Lenore.

“Hello, my girl!” he replied, and kissed her.  “I’m sorry to tell you I couldn’t locate Kurt Dorn....  That New York—­an’ that trainin’ camp!”

He held up his hands in utter futility of expression.  Lenore’s quick eyes noted his face had grown thin and haggard, and she made sure with a pang that his hair was whiter.

“I’m sure glad to be home,” he said, with a heavy expulsion of breath.  “I want to clean up an’ have a bite to eat.”

* * * * *

Lenore was so disappointed at failing to hear from Dorn that she did not think how singular it was her father did not tell more about Jim.  Later he seemed more like himself, and told them simply that Jim had contracted pneumonia and died without any message for his folk at home.  This prostrated Mrs. Anderson again.

Later Lenore sought her father in his room.  He could not conceal from her that he had something heartrending on his mind.  Then there was more than tragedy in his expression.  Lenore felt a leap of fear at what seemed her father’s hidden anger.  She appealed to him—­importuned him.  Plainer it came to her that he wanted to relieve himself of a burden.  Then doubling her persuasions, she finally got him to talk.