coward, would
you?"

"I would stake everything on his bravery!" I said honestly, looking at
the picture.

She came over and squeezed my hand.

"It was a wicked lie--all a lie!" she said bitterly.

"Tell us all about it," I said; "I am sure there has been a mistake."

She went quickly out of the room, and my old friend and I stared at
each other without speaking. In a few minutes she came back with a
"paper" in her hand, and, handing it to me, she said, "Read that and
you'll see what they say!"

I read the announcement which stated that her husband had been missing
since September 29, and was now believed to have been killed. "This is
just what is sent to every one--" I began, but she interrupted me.

"Look here!" she cried, leaning over my shoulder and pointing to the
two words "marginally noted"--"What does that mean?"

I read it over again:--

"We regret to inform you that the soldier marginally noted, who has
been declared missing since September 29, is now believed to have been
killed!"

"There!" she cried, "can't you see?" pointing again to the two words.
"Don't you see what that means?--margin means the edge--and that means
that Fred was noted for being always on the edge of the army, trying
to escape, I suppose. But that's a lie, for Fred was not that kind, I
tell you--he was no coward!"

I saw where the trouble lay, and tried to explain. She would not
listen.

"Oh, but I looked in the dictionary and I know: 'margin' means 'the
edge,' and they are trying to say that Fred was always edging
off--you see--noted for being on the edge, that's what they say."

We reasoned, we argued, we explained, but the poor little lonely soul
was obsessed with the idea that a deep insult had been put upon her
man's memory.

Then my old friend had an idea. She opened her purse and brought out
the notice which she had received of the death of her last boy.

We put the two notices side by side, and told her that these were
printed by the thousands, and every one got the same. Just the name
had to be filled in.

Then she saw it!

"Oh!" she cried, "I am so glad you showed me this, for I have been so
bitter. I hated every one; it sounded so hard and cold and
horrible--as if nobody cared. It was harder than losing Fred to have
him so insulted. But now I see it all!"

"Isn't it too bad," said the old lady, as we walked home together,
"that they do not have these things managed by women? Women would
have sense enou