"Now I want you to understand, mother.... I want to tell you of ...
It's--well, I want to do something with my money, my life...." And his
voice broke, in spite of himself.

His mother felt as if she were smothering. But she waited, and he went
on:

"For those dead girls, mother...." and sharply came a dry sob. "And for
all the toilers. Oh, but can you understand?"

There was a silence. Then she looked at him from her youthful, brilliant
eyes, and saw only an overgrown, rather ignorant boy. This gave her
strength, and, though it was painful, she began speaking:

"_Understand_? Do you mean the books you are reading?"

"Yes," he murmured.

"Well," she smiled weakly, "I've been reading them, too."

"_You_!" He was shocked. He looked at her as if she had revealed a new
woman to him.

"Yes," she said, quickly. "I found them in your room."

He was amazedly silent. He felt then that he had never really known his
mother.

"Joe," she said, tremulously, "I want to tell you a little about the
war.... There are things I haven't told you."