They say that the only time anyone ever saw a gleam in his
face was the day he went away to the war. Then he was killed. And
now she won't get well because she can't forget him."
"And that is what you call a 'pity'?"
"Well, not exactly that." She hesitated. "If he had cared for her as
she thought he did, it wouldn't seem such a waste. But he didn't.
Everybody knew it--except herself."
"Everybody may have been wrong."
"Yes. But that is just the point. They weren't. He died as he had
lived without a thought for anything but music. I happened to hear a
rather wonderful story about his dying. Sergeant Timms, who drives
the baker's cart, was in the next cot to his, in the hospital. And
my idea is that if he could just tell her the story--just let her
see that he went away without a thought--she might get things in
proportion again and let herself get well."
"I see. Well, my dear, it is your idea. Is John going to drive you
out?"
"No. He wanted to. But I'll have to find the Sergeant and take him
with me."
"In the baker's cart?"
"What a good idea! I would never have thought of that. And I've
always wanted to ride in a baker's cart. They smell so crusty."
So it was really the professor's fault that Bainbridge was
scandalized by the sight of young Mrs. Spence jogging comfortably
along through the outskirts in a bread cart driven by the one-time
Sergeant Edward Timms.
"And him so silly with havin' her," said Mrs.
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