And when it was finished I knew that I'd never tell Mother, that I'd never write to Jerry--not the letter that I was going to write.

I knew that-- * * * * * They brought Jerry's letter to me at just that point.

What a wonderful letter that man can write--when he wants to! He says he's lonesome and homesick, and that the house is like a tomb without Eunice and me, and when _am_ I coming home?
* * * * * I wrote him to-night that I was going--to-morrow.
THE END.