Of the war they spoke little; not at all of what was to be after--the past, the golden, happy past, rich in love and in comradeship, that was their one theme.
As night fell, the father grew weary, and his periods of sleep grew longer, but ever as he woke he found his son's face smiling down upon him.
"Good boy, Barry," he said once, with an understanding look and an answering smile.

"Don't try too hard, my boy." "It's all right, dad.

I assure you it's all right.

You know it is." "I know, I know, my boy," he said, and fell asleep again.
As the midnight hour drew on, Barry's head, from sheer weariness, sunk upon his breast.

In his sleep he became aware of some one near him.