He said that he himself had once
gone into the same Valley of the Shadow as the Boy, when he was young and new
to the country; so he understood how things fought together in The Boy's poor
jumbled head. He also said that youngsters, in their repentant moments,
consider their sins much more serious and ineffaceable than they really are.
We talked together all through the evening, and rehearsed the story of the
death of The Boy. As soon as the moon was up, and The Boy, theoretically, just
buried, we struck across country for the Station. We walked from eight till
six o'clock in the morning; but though we were dead-tired, we did not forget
to go to The Boy's room and put away his revolver with the proper amount of
cartridges in the pouch. Also to set his writing-case on the table. We found
the Colonel and reported the death, feeling more like murderers than ever.
Then we went to bed and slept the clock round; for there was no more in us.
The tale had credence as long as was necessary, for every one forgot about The
Boy before a fortnight was over. Many people, however, found time to say that
the Major had behaved scandalously in not bringing in the body for a
regimental funeral. The saddest thing of all was a letter from The Boy's
mother to the Major and me--with big inky blisters all over the sheet.
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