I hardly know what to decide, for we are so poor and I am now so helpless; yet I have prayed earnestly for guidance, and can but think it must be God's will that we care for this poor orphan child of my old friend." My mother crossed the room to him, and bent down until her soft cheek touched his lips.
"I knew you would, David," she whispered, in the tender way she had, her hand pressing back his short gray hair.

"She shall ever be unto us as our own little girl,--the one we lost come back to us again." My father bent his head wearily upon one hand, his eyes upon the candle flame, his other hand patting her fingers.
"It must be all of ten years," he said slowly, "since last I had word of Roger Matherson.

He was in Canada then, yet has never since been long out of my mind.

He saved my life, not once alone, as he would seem to remember, but three separate times in battle.

We were children together in the blue Berkshire hills, and during all our younger manhood were more than brothers.