“No, Mary, ’twere Bob,” he answered.

“I feels ’tweren’t, but if ’twere ‘tis th’ Lard’s will, an’ ’tis our duty t’ be brave an’ bear up.  Tis hard—­rare hard—­but bear up, Richard—­an’ bear un like a man.  Remember, Richard, we has th’ maid spared to us.”

And so, heart-broken though she was herself, she comforted and encouraged him, as is the way of women, for in times of great misfortune they are often the braver of the sexes.  Her husband did not know the hours of wakeful uncertainty and helplessness and despair that Mrs. Gray spent, as she lay long into the nights thinking and thinking, until sometimes it seemed that she would go mad.

Bessie, gentle and sympathetic, was the pillar upon which they all leaned during those first days after the dreadful tidings came.  It was her presence that made life possible.  Like a good angel she moved about the house, unobtrusively ministering to them, and Mrs. Gray more than once said,

“I’m not knowin’ what we’d do, Bessie, if ’twere not for you.”

After a week of silent despondency the father roused himself to some extent from the lethargy into which he had fallen, and returned to his trail.  The work brought back life and energy, and when, a fortnight later, he came back, he had resumed somewhat his old bearing and manner, though not all of the buoyancy.  He entered the cabin with the old greeting—­“An’ how’s my maid been wi’out her daddy?” It made the others feel better and happier; and he was almost his natural self again when he left them for another period.

The report of Bob’s death did not appear to affect Emily as greatly as her mother feared it would.  She was silent, and took less interest in her doll, and seemed to be constantly expecting something to occur.  One day after her father had left them she called her mother to her, and, taking her hand to draw her to a seat on the couch, asked: 

“Mother, do angels ever come by day, or be it always by night?”

“I’m—­I’m—­not knowin’, dear.  They comes both times, I’m thinkin’—­but mostly by night—­I’m—­not knowin’,” faltered the mother.

“Does un think Bob’s angel ha’ been comin’ by night while we sleeps, mother?  I been watchin’, an’ he’ve never come while I wakes—­an’ I’m wonderin’ an’ wonderin’.”

“No—­not while we sleeps—­no—­I’m not knowin’,” and then she buried her face in Emily’s pillow and wept.

“Bob’s knowin’, mother, how we longs t’ see he,” continued Emily, as she stroked her mother’s hair, “an’ he’d sure be comin’ if he were killed.  He’d sure be doin’ that so we could see un.  But he’s not been comin’, an’ I’m thinkin’ he’s livin’, just as you were sayin’.  Bob’ll be home wi’ th’ break-up, mother, I’m thinkin’—­wi’ th’ break-up, mother, for his angel ha’ never come, as un sure would if he were dead.”

On two or three other occasions after this—­once in the night—­Emily called Mrs. Gray to her to reiterate this belief.  She would not accept even the possibility of Bob’s death without first seeing his angel, which she was so positive would come to visit them if he were really dead; and it was this that kept back the grief that she would have felt had she believed that she was never to see him again.