WAR
"Have you!" says I, putting my one arm around her.
"I wasn't sure," she says. "If you had done to me and mine what I have done to you and yours, I wonder whether I would forgive you?"
"Yes, you would," says I.
"And, maybe," she says, after a while, "he will come back to you. Then I shall be here. I know now that he will never come to me."
"No," I says, "he will never come to you," and I hands her the letter to read.
She's coming up the yard now. See! She has red and white roses in her hands—from Jon's hotbed behind the barn where her wedding flowers were to grow! She wears the red roses—just as she did that last night, for Dave. The white ones are for Jon. She's just put some on his grave. She does it early every morning. I call her my angel of the blue and the gray. She calls me her two lovers of the gray and the blue. She says I must love her as much as they both did. But I say that she's
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