"Never a trial," said Monty. "No, sir, never that. We had a son, you know…

"He was with us just a while," said Nancy. "Six years. That was all. If he had lived, he'd be the same age as you are now.

"Measles," said Monty. "Measles, for the love of God. There was a time when men knew how to deal with measles, how to prevent them. There was a time when measles were almost never heard of."

"There were sixteen others," Nancy said, remembering. "Seventeen, with John. All with measles. It was a terrible Winter The worst we've ever known."

"I am sorry," Cushing said.

"The sorrow is over now," said Monty. "The surface sorrow, that is. There is a deeper sorrow that will be with us all our lives. We speak very seldom of it because we do not want you to think you are standing in his stead, that you are taking his Place, that we love you because of him."

"We love you," said Nancy, speaking gently, "because you're Thomas Cushing. No one but yourself. We sorrow less, I think, because of you. Some of the old-time hurt is gone because of you. Tom, we owe you more than the two of us can tell you.

"We owe you enough," said Monty, "to talk as we do now—a strange kind of talk, indeed. It was becoming intolerable, you know. You not saying anything to us because you thought we'd not understand, held to us because of a mistaken loyalty. We knowing from the things you did and the way you acted what you had in mind and yet compelled to hold our peace because we did not think we should be the ones who brought what you were thinking out into the open. We had feared that if we said anything about it, you might think we wanted you to leave, and you know well enough that we never would want that. But this foolishness has gone on long enough and now we think that we should tell you that we hold enough affection for you to let you go if you feel you really have to, or if you only want to. If you must leave us, we would not have you go with guilt, feeling you have run out on us. We've watched you the last few months, wanting to tell us, shying away from telling us. Nervous as a cat. Itching to go free."