a woman without caring to hide it. The letters were so
dreary and hopeless and touching. We forgot all about The Boy's follies,
and only thought of the poor Thing on the charpoy and the scrawled
sheets in our hands. It was utterly impossible to let the letters go
Home. They would have broken his Father's heart and killed his Mother
after killing her belief in her son.

At last the Major dried his eyes openly, and said: "Nice sort of thing
to spring on an English family! What shall we do?"

I said, knowing what the Major had brought me but for: "The Boy died
of cholera. We were with him at the time. We can't commit ourselves to
half-measures. Come along."

Then began one of the most grimy comic scenes I have ever taken part
in--the concoction of a big, written lie, bolstered with evidence, to
soothe The Boy's people at Home. I began the rough draft of a letter,
the Major throwing in hints here and there while he gathered up all the
stuff that The Boy had written and burnt it in the fireplace. It was a
hot, still evening when we began, and the lamp burned very badly. In due
course I got the draft to my satisfaction, setting forth how The Boy was
the pattern of all virtues, beloved by his regiment, with every promise
of a great career before him, and so on; how we had helped him through
the sickness--it was no time for little lies, you will understand--and
how he had died without pain. I choked while I was putting down these
things and thinking of the poor people who would read them. Then I
laughed at the grotesqueness of the affair, and the laughter mixed
itself up with the choke--and the Major said that we both wanted drinks.

I am afraid to say how much whiskey we drank before the letter was
finished. It had not the least effect on us. Then we took off The Boy's
watch, locket, and rings.

Lastly, the Major said: "We must send a lock of hair too. A woman values
that."

But there were reasons why we could not find a lock fit to send. The Boy
was black-haired, and so was the Major, luckily. I cut off a piece of
the Major's hair above the temple with a knife, and put it into the
packet we were making. The laughing-fit and the chokes got hold of me
again, and I had to stop. The Major was nearly as bad; and we both knew
that the worst part of the work was to come.

We sealed up the packet, photographs, locket, seals, ring, letter, and
lock of hair with The Boy's sealing-wax and The Boy's seal.

Then the Major said: