He was lying on a stretcher, and it was my privilege to hold his hand and to kiss him for his mother.

“Gipsy,” he said, “does it mean West?”

I said, “Sonny, it means West.”

As I held his hand it flickered for a moment and he said, “I am not afraid to go.  I know Christ.  I found Him in your meetings, and—­it’s great to die, for freedom.”

And it was a great thing for me to be with your boy then.

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I thank my God upon every remembrance of your boys.

THE END