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A Classic Instance
by
The old man sat in the twilight of the tranquil book-lined room, leaning back in his armchair, with an open letter on the table before him. He gave his hand cordially to Hardman and thanked him for his sympathetic words. He talked quietly and naturally about Dick, and confessed how much he should miss the boy–as it were, his only son.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I am going to be lonely, but I am not forsaken. I shall be sad sometimes, but never sorry–always proud of my boy. Would you like to see this letter? It is the last that he wrote.”
It was a young, simple letter, full of cheerful joking and personal details and words of affection which the shy lad would never have spoken face to face. At the end he wrote:
“Well, dear Governor, this is a rough life, and some parts are not easy to bear. But I want you to know that I was never happier in all my days. I know that we are fighting for a good cause, justice, and freedom, and a world made clean from this beastly German militarism. The things that the Germans have done to France and Belgium must be stopped, and they must never be done again. We want a decent world to live in, and we are going to have it, no matter what it costs. Of course I should like to live through it all, if I can do it with honor. But a man never can tell what is going to happen. And I certainly would rather give up my life than the things we are fighting for–the things you taught me to believe are according to the will of God. So good-night for the present, Uncle, and sleep well.
“Your loving nephew and son,
“DICK.”
Hardman’s hand shook a little as he laid the paper on the table.
“It is a beautiful letter,” he said.
“Yes,” nodded the old professor, putting his hand upon it; “it is a classic; very clear and simple and high-minded. The German Crown Prince says our American soldiers do not know what they are fighting for. But Richard knew. It was to defend ‘the things for which we live’ that he gladly gave his life.”
September, 1918.