All at once he showed the ravages of pain and loss that the last year had added to his life of struggle.  Lenore embraced him and felt her heart full.

“Dad, I’m not leaving you,” she protested.  “He’ll get well up there—­find his balance sooner among those desert wheat-hills.  We will divide our time between the two places.  Remember, you can run up there any day.  Your interests are there now.  Dad, don’t think of it as separation.  Kurt has come into our family—­and we’re just going to be away some of the time.”

Thus she won back a smile to the worn face.

“We’ve all got a weak spot,” he said, musingly.  “Mine is here—­an’ it’s a fear of growin’ old an’ bein’ left alone.  That’s selfish.  But I’ve lived, an’ I reckon I’ve no more to ask for.”

Lenore could not help being sad in the midst of her increasing happiness.  Joy to some brought to others only gloom!  Life was sunshine and storm—­youth and age.

This morning she found Kathleen entertaining Dorn.  This was the second time the child had been permitted to see him, and the immense novelty had not yet worn off.  Kathleen was a hero-worshiper.  If she had been devoted to Dorn before his absence, she now manifested symptoms of complete idolatry.  Lenore had forbidden her to question Dorn about anything in regard to the war.  Kathleen never broke her promises, but it was plain that Dorn had read the mute, anguished wonder and flame in her eyes when they rested upon his empty sleeve, and evidently had told her things.  Kathleen was white, wide-eyed, and beautiful then, with all a child’s imagination stirred.

“I’ve been telling Kathie how I lost my arm,” explained Dorn.

“I hate Germans!  I hate war!” cried Kathleen, passionately.

“My dear, hate them always,” said Dorn.

When Kathleen had gone Lenore asked Dorn if he thought it was right to tell the child always to hate Germans.

“Right!” exclaimed Dorn, with a queer laugh.  Every day now he showed signs of stronger personality.  “Lenore, what I went through has confused my sense of right and wrong.  Some day perhaps it will all come clear.  But, Lenore, all my life, if I live to be ninety, I shall hate Germans.”

“Oh, Kurt, it’s too soon for you to—­to be less narrow, less passionate,” replied Lenore, with hesitation.  “I understand.  The day will come when you’ll not condemn a people because of a form of government—­of military class.”

“It will never come,” asserted Dorn, positively.  “Lenore, people in our country do not understand.  They are too far away from realities.  But I was six months in France.  I’ve seen the ruined villages, thousands of refugees—­and I’ve met the Huns at the front.  I know I’ve seen the realities.  In regard to this war I can only feel.  You’ve got to go over there and see for yourself before you realize.  You can understand this—­that but for you and your power over me I’d be a worn-out, emotionally