ght. A glow of
gratitude had flooded his soul at sight of his beloved captain, whom he
hoped soon to be able to call _his_ captain. Unconsciously he walked with
more self-respect as the words of confidence and trust rang over again in
his ears. Unconsciously the little matters of personal enmity became
smaller, of less importance, beside the greater things of life in which
he hoped soon to have a real part. If he got this transfer it meant a
chance to work with a great man in a great way that would not only help
the war but would be of great value to him in this world after the war
was over. It was good to have the friendship of a man like that, fine,
clean, strong, intellectual, kind, just, human, gentle as a woman, yet
stern against all who deviated from the path of right.

The dusk was settling into evening and twinkling lights gloomed out amid
the misty, dust-laden air. Snatches of wild song chorused out from open
windows:

She's my lady, my baby,
She's cock-eyed, she's crazy.

The twang of a banjo trailed in above the voices, with a sound of
scuffling. Loud laughter broke the thread of the song leaving _"Mary
Ann!"_ to soar out alone. Then the chorus took it up once more:

All her teeth are false
From eating Rochelle salts--
She's my freckled-faced, consumptive MARY ANN-N-N!

Cameron turned in at the quiet haven of the Y.M.C.A. hut, glad to leave
the babel sounds outside. Somehow they did not fit his mood to-night,
although there were times when he could roar the outlandish gibberish
with the best of them. But to-night he was on such a wonderful sacred
errand bent, that it seemed as though he wanted to keep his soul from
contact with rougher things lest somehow it might get out of tune and so
unfit him for the task before him.

And then when he had seated himself before the simple desk he looked at
the paper with discontent. True, it was all that was provided and it was
good enough for ordinary letters, but this letter to her was different.
He wished he had something better. To think he was really writing to
_her_! And now that he was here with the paper before him what was he to
say? Words seemed to have deserted him. How should he address her?

It was not until he had edged over to the end of the bench away from
everybody else and taken out the precious letter that he gained
confidence and took up his pen:

"My dear friend:----" W