And he laughed and looked queer--sort of half glad and half sorry; and said he shouldn't worry about that.
Then the train came, and we got on and rode down to the junction.

And there, while we were waiting for the other train, he told me how sorry he was to have me go.
He said I would never know how he missed me after I went last year.

He said you never knew how you missed things--and people--till they were gone.

And I wondered if, by the way he said it, he wasn't thinking of Mother more than he was of me, and of her going long ago.

And he looked so sort of sad and sorry and noble and handsome, sitting there beside me, that suddenly I 'most wanted to cry.