"
"Oh, Allan," cried his sister in reproach.
"Oh, yes, I know! I know! You believe in me, Moira, but you are just a
lassie, and you cannot understand."
"Yes, you know well I believe in you, Allan, and others, too, believe in
you. There is Mr. Dunn, and--"
"Oh, I don't know," said her brother bitterly, "he wants to believe it."
"Yes, and there is Mr. Martin," she continued, "and--Oh, I forgot! here
is a letter Mr. Martin brought you."
"Martin?"
"Yes, your Martin, a strange little man; your quarter-back, you know. He
brought this, and he says it is good news." But already Allan was into
his letter. As he read his face grew white, his hand began to shake, his
eyes to stare as if they would devour the very paper. The second time he
read the letter his whole body trembled, and his breath came in gasps,
as if he were in a physical struggle. Then lifting arms and voice
towards the sky, he cried in a long, low wail, "Oh God, it is good, it
is good!"
With that he laid himself down prone upon the mound again, his face in
the grass, sobbing brokenly, "Oh, mother, mother dear, I have got you
once more; I have got you once more!"
His sister stood, her hands clasped upon her heart--a manner she
had--her tears, unnoted, flowing down her cheeks, waiting till her
brother should let her into his joy, as she had waited for entrance into
his grief.
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