Travilla read it to him,
while Elsie moved away to the farther side of the room, her heart filled
with a strange mixture of emotions, in which grief was uppermost.
The letter was filled chiefly with an account of the writer's religious
experience. Since his last visit to the Oaks he had been constantly
rejoicing in the love of Christ, and now, expecting, as he did, to fall in
the coming battle, death had no terrors for him. And he owed this, he
said, in great measure to the influence of his brother Horace and Elsie,
especially to the beautiful consistency of her Christian life through all
the years he had known her.
Through all her grief and sadness, what joy and thankfulness stirred in
her breast at that thought. Very humble and unworthy she felt; but oh,
what gladness to learn that her Master had thus honored her as an
instrument in His hands.
The door opened softly, and her three little ones came quietly in and
gathered about her. They had been taught thoughtfulness for others: Uncle
Harold was ill, and they would not disturb him.
Leaning confidingly on her lap, lifting loving, trustful eyes to her face,
"Mamma," they said, low and softly, "we have had our supper; will you come
with us now?"
"Yes, dear, presently."
"Mamma," whispered little Elsie, with a wistful, tender gaze into the soft
sweet eyes still swimming in tears, "dear mamma, something has made you
sorry.
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