grantly. It was an ideal moment. And Scobee wondered why his mother sighed and why there were tears in her lovely eyes. He wanted to kiss those tears away. He didn't want his mother to cry.
And he said, "What's the matter, mother? Are you sad?"
She squeezed him to her. "Dear little boy," she murmured, and there seemed to be a catch in her voice. "Dear little boy. No I am not sad but come I want to show you the house which I am building for you."
So together they turned their backs on the river and walked once more across the field to where a big house loomed up on the prairie, homelike, comfortable, friendly. Together they walked through the silent halls. They alone were in the house.
"This is the home I am building for you," she repeated, "and I am putting all my love for you into it. Into the halls my songs have been woven, into the long winding halls, my thoughts, my dreams, my hopes for you. If
anything should happen to me and I am not
