“Shall I read it aloud, wife?” Mr. Travilla asked.

“If Harold cares to hear.  There is no secret.”

“I should like it greatly,” Harold said; and Mr. Travilla read it to him, while Elsie moved away to the farther side of the room, her heart filled with a strange mixture of emotions, in which grief was uppermost.

The letter was filled chiefly with an account of the writer’s religious experience.  Since his last visit to the Oaks he had been constantly rejoicing in the love of Christ, and now, expecting, as he did, to fall in the coming battle, death had no terrors for him.  And he owed this, he said, in great measure to the influence of his brother Horace and Elsie, especially to the beautiful consistency of her Christian life through all the years he had known her.

Through all her grief and sadness, what joy and thankfulness stirred in her breast at that thought.  Very humble and unworthy she felt; but oh, what gladness to learn that her Master had thus honored her as an instrument in His hands.

The door opened softly, and her three little ones came quietly in and gathered about her.  They had been taught thoughtfulness for others:  Uncle Harold was ill, and they would not disturb him.

Leaning confidingly on her lap, lifting loving, trustful eyes to her face, “Mamma,” they said, low and softly, “we have had our supper; will you come with us now?”

“Yes, dear, presently.”

“Mamma,” whispered little Elsie, with a wistful, tender gaze into the soft sweet eyes still swimming in tears, “dear mamma, something has made you sorry.  What can I do to comfort you?”

“Love me, darling, and be good; you are mamma’s precious little comforter.  See dears,” and she held the photograph so that all could have a view, “it is dear Uncle Walter in his soldier dress.”  A big tear rolled down her cheek.

“Mamma,” Elsie said quickly, “how good he looks! and he is so happy where Jesus is.”

“Yes, daughter, we need shed no tears for him.”

“Dear Uncle Walter,” “Poor Uncle Walter!” the other two were saying.

“There, papa has finished reading; go now and bid good-night to him and Uncle Harold,” their mother said; and they hastened to obey.

They climbed their father’s knees and hung about his neck with the most confiding affection, while he caressed them over and over again, Harold looking on with glistening eyes.

“Now some dood fun, papa:  toss Vi up in oo arms,” said the little one, expecting the usual game of romps.

“Not to-night, pet; some other time.  Another sweet kiss for papa, and now one for Uncle Harold.”

“After four years of camp, prison, and hospital life, it is a very pleasant change to be among the children,” Harold said, as the door closed upon Elsie and her little flock.

“I feared their noise and perpetual motion might disturb you,” Mr. Travilla answered.