thought he understood those last words of hers.

"Son, you must stay with your father as long as he needs you. But when
that duty is over you must go back to the little green town on the
other side of the world. Your father and I brought a message to India.
You must take one back to my people. Oh, you will love it--you will
love it--the little dear town full of friends and everywhere the
fragrance of home. Oh, there are many there who will love you for my
sake and who will make up to you for--me."

Her hand caressed his hair and her voice trailed off into a sigh for
she knew what he didn't, wouldn't believe--that she was never to see
that little green town across the gray-green ocean waves.

At the very last she had whispered:

"Oh, Boy of Mine, when you go home greet them all for me. And if ever
you go to rummaging about in the attic remember you must never open the
square trunk with the brass nail heads unless Mary Wentworth is there
to explain. Tell Mary I love her and that I am not sorry. She will
understand."

So as he looked out of Grandma Wentworth's upstairs windows he
remembered those last talks and understood that yearning for home.
When he had been in Green Valley only a few weeks the old life began to
grow vague and unreal. The mother was real and near. But the splendid
figure of his father was fading into a strange memory. He was a father
to be proud of, that strong, cool, selfless man who had asked nothing
of life but to take what it would of him.