he big town not so far from here there are boys
in brown suits and they call them scouts. A neighbor of mine
says you must be one of those because they are all over the
country.

It is so kind how you thought to send the letter. I would like
to know where you got it. It made me very sad to read it because
it was written to me by my son Joe, who was killed in the war.
He was killed near Reims. I wish I could know all about it but
nobody can find out for me.

He went from Camp Merritt in April 1918 and Mr. Hicks who is
postmaster here has a big map on the wall in his store and he
says that Bridgeboro (which is written near your name on the
envelope) is near Camp Merritt, so perhaps you found the letter.
I guess so for it is so old and looks as if it had been in the
weather, but it is very, very dear to me. So, my dear young
friend, who are so kind, you can say to yourself that you made
me see my boy once more just the same as if he came back. I
think that will make you happy. It made me sad but it made me
happy too. It seems as if I have a letter from both of you and I
will never see you but you are both with me in my trouble and
loneliness.

I would like you to come here sometime and see the home where my
boy grew up but I have much trouble and fear that soon I must go
to the Home in Barnardsville, there to end my days. But these
pictures taken by my boy will show you his home that I must now
lose and his dog now twelve years old; poor dog, I do not know
where he will go when I go to the Home.

My dear boy saved his life when he was your age as I suppose,
and do you know how? By running to him when he was caught in a
thrasher and my boy stepped on a scythe as he ran and he was
many weeks in bed while I nursed him. It seemed hardest of all
that I could not nurse him when he died. He was a brave boy and
so gentle and kind to me and to everyone, even the animals, and
he was so noble and good to me after his father died.

So you see, my dear young friend, I have lost much, even more
than I tell you and I say there are sorrows worse than death so
you will be a pride and comfort as you grow up, for I have known
what an undutiful son is too. But I think of my brave, noble boy
that died in France and you brought him back to me for a few
minutes when I sat reading his l