A Highway Through the Hills
241
“You will see the fields planted and watch the harvest come in.”
“I will help you this winter,” Hugh answered, “and perhaps stay in the spring to see the planting. But,” and he patted the letter in his pocket, “by the time the harvest comes I will be in France.”
He wished a moment after that he had not spoken, for Oscar’s face clouded, yet quickly cleared again.
“Yet there will always be things to do at home,” he said, “for us who are not so lucky as you who go to France.”
THE END
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