he trees--it all seemed to be part of me. I fear I
am not explaining myself."

Craven paused again, and his eyes began to glow. The professor still
waited.

"When we reached the house we found them waiting for death. The
minister's wife went in, I waited in the kitchen. By and by Billy Jack,
that's her eldest son, you know, came out. 'She is asking for you,' he
said, and I went in. I had often seen her before, and I rather think
she liked me. You see, I had been able to help Thomas along pretty well,
both in school and with his night work, and she was grateful for what I
had done, absurdly grateful when one considers how little it was. I had
seen death before, and it had always been ghastly, but there was nothing
ghastly in death that night. The whole scene is before me now, I suppose
always will be."

His dead, black eyes were beginning to show their deep, red fire.

The professor looked at him for a moment or two, and then said,
"Proceed, if you please," and Craven drew a long breath, as if recalling
himself, and went on.

"The old man was there at one side, with his gray head down on the
bed, his little girl kneeling beside him with her arm round his neck,
opposite him the minister's wife, her face calm and steady, Billy Jack
standing at the foot of the bed--he and little Jessac the only ones in
the room who were weeping--and there at the head, Thomas, supporting
his mother, now and then moistening her lips and giving her sips of
stimulant, and so quick and steady, gentle as a woman, and smiling
through it all. I could hardly believe it was the same big fellow who
three hours before had carried the ball through the Front defense. I
tell you, sir, it was wonderful.

"There was no fuss or hysterical nonsense in that room. The mother lay
there quite peaceful, pain all gone--and she had had enough of it in
her day. She was quite a beautiful woman, too, in a way. Fine eyes,
remarkable eyes, splendidly firm mouth, showing great nerve, I should
say. All her life, I understand, she lived for others, and even now her
thought was not of herself. When I came in she opened her eyes. They
were like stars, actually shining, and her smile was like the sudden
breaking of light through a cloud. She put out her hand for mine, and
said--and I value these words, sir--'Mr. Craven, I give you a mither's
thanks and a mither's blessing for a' you have done for ma laddie.' She
was Lowland Scotch, you know. My voice went all to pieces.