“Yes, ye-es, I cal’late that’s so.  But, to be real honest now, Maud, would you have been satisfied to have it that way?  Would you have felt that it was the honorable thing for Charlie to do?  Isn’t what he has done better?  He’s undertakin’ the biggest and finest job a man can do in this world to-day, as I see it.  It’s the job he’d have taken on months ago if he’d felt ’twas right to leave Ruth—­Mrs. Armstrong—­so soon after—­after bein’ separated from her so long.  He’s taken on this big job, this man’s job, and he says to you:  ’Here I am.  You know me now.  Do you care for me still?  If you do will you wait till I come back?’ And to your dad, to Sam, he says:  ‘I ain’t workin’ for you now.  I ain’t on your payroll and so I can speak out free and independent.  If your daughter’ll have me I mean to marry her some day.’  Ain’t that the better way, Maud?  Ain’t that how you’d rather have him feel—­and do?”

She sighed and shook her head.  “I—­I suppose so,” she admitted.  “Oh, I suppose that you and he are right.  In his letter he says just that.  Would you like to see it; that part of it, I mean?”

Jed took the crumpled and tear-stained letter from her hand.

“I think I ought to tell you, Maud,” he said, “that writin’ this was his own idea.  It was me that suggested his enlistin’, although I found he’d been thinkin’ of it all along, but I was for havin’ him go and enlist and then come back and tell you and Sam.  But he says, ’No.  I’ll tell her in a letter and then when I come back she’ll have had time to think it over.  She won’t say ‘yes’ then simply because she pities me or because she doesn’t realize what it means.  No, I’ll write her and then when I come back after enlistin’ and go to her for my answer, I’ll know it’s given deliberate.’”

She nodded.  “He says that there,” she said chokingly.  “But he—­he must have known.  Oh, Jed, how can I let him go—­to war?”

That portion of the letter which Jed was permitted to read was straightforward and honest and manly.  There were no appeals for pity or sympathy.  The writer stated his case and left the rest to her, that was all.  And Jed, reading between the lines, respected Charles Phillips more than ever.

He and Maud talked for a long time after that.  And, at last, they reached a point which Jed had tried his best to avoid.  Maud mentioned it first.  She had been speaking of his friendship for her lover and for herself.

“I don’t see what we should have done without your help, Jed,” she said.  “And when I think what you have done for Charlie!  Why, yes—­ and now I know why you pretended to have found the four hundred dollars Father thought he had lost.  Pa left it at Wapatomac, after all; you knew that?”

Jed stirred uneasily.  He was standing by the window, looking out into the yard.

“Yes, yes,” he said hastily, “I know.  Don’t talk about it, Maud.  It makes me feel more like a fool than usual and . . . er . . . don’t seem as if that was hardly necessary, does it?”