George got across, then the man with the telephone wire started, and was shot--just as he reached George.

He fell into George's arms--and died.

And it might have been George--it might have been George just as well! It might be George any day!' Miss Martin looked at her in perplexity.

She had no ready-made consolations--she never had.

Perhaps it was that which made her kind wrinkled face such a welcome sight to those in trouble.