Section 9

In the morning Mr. Britling's face was white from his overnight brain storm, and Hugh's was fresh from wholesome sleep. They walked about the lawn, and Mr. Britling talked hopefully of the general outlook until it was time for them to start to the station….

The little old station–master grasped the situation at once, and presided over their last hand–clasp.

"Good luck, Hugh!" cried Mr. Britling.

"Good luck!" cried the little old station–master.

"It's not easy a–parting," he said to Mr. Britling as the train slipped down the line. "There's been many a parting hea' since this here old war began. Many. And some as won't come back again neether."