His father and I dreamed dreams about him.
They came true, though not in the way we would have chosen.

He went into the Indian Civil Service--the Hopes were always a far-wandering race--and he gave his life fighting famine in his district....

And Jock would be nothing but a soldier--_my_ Jock with his warm heart and his sudden rages and his passion for animals! (Jock Jardine reminds me of him just a little.) There never was anyone more lovable and he was killed in a Frontier raid--two in a year.

Their father was gone, and for that I was, thankful; one can bear sorrow oneself, but it is terrible to see others suffer.

Augusta was a rock in a weary land to me; nobody knows what Augusta is but her mother.