in the heart of his mother. The War had made beasts of men but of her it had made a saint. Then came the bursting shell and blindness.
When Scobee months later was home again, he finished painting the picture of his mother which she had commenced years before and never completed. But now he had found his mother's face, the beloved countenance for which he had been searching all his life. So deeply was the vision of her sweet face impressed upon his memory, he was able to complete the picture which she had started. Even in his blindness he was able to paint although he had the feeling as he worked in the attic that he was not alone. Some lovely presence was there with him. The House Mother guided his hand even as ever since childhood she had watched over him, crooned lullabies and guided his footsteps. The picture had been painted during the night but this meant naught to Scobee for now he lived in a land of perpetual night. Day had vanished forever. And when at last he had finished the picture
he crept downstairs again to his room. Sleep
