hat a blessing it didn't happen at Salisbury!'

Every one, from the Authorities of the Flying Corps to the Rector, was
most kind and sympathetic. Mary found herself for the moment in a world
where bodies were in the habit of being despatched by all sorts of
conveyances to all sorts of places. And at the funeral two young men in
buttoned-up uniforms stood beside the grave and spoke to her afterwards.

'You're Miss Postgate, aren't you?' said one. 'Fowler told me about you.
He was a good chap--a first-class fellow--a great loss.'

'Great loss!' growled his companion. 'We're all awfully sorry.'

'How high did he fall from?' Mary whispered.

'Pretty nearly four thousand feet, I should think, didn't he? You were
up that day, Monkey?'

'All of that,' the other child replied. 'My bar made three thousand, and
I wasn't as high as him by a lot.'

'Then _that's_ all right,' said Mary. 'Thank you very much.'

They moved away as Mrs. Grant flung herself weeping on Mary's flat
chest, under the lych-gate, and cried, '_I_ know how it feels! _I_ know
how it feels!'

'But both his parents are dead,' Mary returned, as she fended her off.
'Perhaps they've all met by now,' she added vaguely as she escaped
towards the coach.

'I've thought of that too,' wailed Mrs. Grant; 'but then he'll be
practically a stranger to them. Quite embarrassing!'

Mary faithfully reported every detail of the ceremony to Miss Fowler,
who, when she described Mrs. Grant's outburst, laughed aloud.

'Oh, how Wynn would have enjoyed it! He was always utterly unreliable at
funerals. D'you remember--' And they talked of him again, each piecing
out the other's gaps. 'And now,' said Miss Fowler, 'we'll pull up the
blinds and we'll have a general tidy. That always does us good. Have you
seen to Wynn's things?'

'Everything--since he first came,' said Mary. 'He was never
destructive--even with his toys.'

They faced that neat room.

'It can't be natural not to cry,' Mary said at last. 'I'm _so_ afraid
you'll have a reaction.'

'As I told you, we old people slip from under the stroke. It's you I'm
afraid for. Have you cried yet?'

'I can't. It only makes me angry with the Germans.'

'That's sheer waste of vitality,' said Miss Fowler. 'We must live till
the war's finished.' She opened a full wardrobe. 'Now, I've been
thinking things over. This is my plan. All his civilian clothes can be
given away--Belgian refugees, and so on.'

Mary nodded. 'Boots, co