"You can just bet he is," replied Elsie. "Carley, you ought to see his dad."
"I'd like to meet him," said Carley, thoughtfully. "Elsie, was he in the
service?"
"Yes. He was on one of the navy transports that took munitions to France.
Think of me, carrying this baby, with my husband on a boat full of
explosives and with German submarines roaming the ocean! Oh, it was
horrible!"
"But he came back, and now all's well with you," said Carley, with a smile
of earnestness. "I'm very glad, Elsie."
"Yes--but I shudder when I think of a possible war in the future. I'm going
to raise boys, and girls, too, I hope--and the thought of war is
torturing."
Carley found her return train somewhat late, and she took advantage of the
delay to walk out to the wooded headlands above the Sound.
It was a raw March day, with a steely sun going down in a pale-gray sky.
Patches of snow lingered in sheltered brushy places. This bit of woodland
had a floor of soft sand that dragged at Carley's feet. There were sere and
brown leaves still fluttering on the scrub-oaks. At length Carley came out
on the edge of the bluff with the gray expanse of sea beneath her, and a
long wandering shore line, ragged with wreckage or driftwood.
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