on the veranda one day luxuriously ensconced in a wicker chair,
smoking a cigarette whose blue wreaths of smoke he blew gayly from
him. He was waiting for the postman--one of Mae's letters had
evidently gone astray, and the postman, who seemed to be a stupid
fellow, had probably given it to some one else. He had made several
mistakes lately, and Garth determined that it was time he was
reprimanded--the young officer would attend to that.

"Posty" came at last, a few minutes late again, and Garth rapped
imperiously with his cane, as "Posty," peering at the addresses of the
letters, came up the steps.

"See here," cried Garth, "let me see what you have!"

"Posty" started nervously and the letters dropped from his hands.
While he gathered them up, Garth in his most military manner delivered
himself of a caustic rebuke:--

"You have left letters here which belong elsewhere, and I have lost
letters through your carelessness. What is the matter with you
anyway--can't you read?" he snapped.

"Yes, sir," stammered "Posty," flushing as red as the band on his hat.

"Well, then," went on the young officer, "why don't you use your
eyes--where do you keep them anyway?"

"Posty" stood at attention as he answered with measured
deliberation:--

"I have one of them here ... but I left the other one at Saint-Eloi.
Were you thinking of hunting it up for me, sir,--when--you--go--over?"

* * * * *

That was six weeks ago. Still the war goes on. Returned men walk our
streets, new pale faces lie on hospital pillows, telegraph boys on
wheels carry dread messages to the soldiers' homes.

Garth has gone back to an Eastern city for another course (this time
in signaling). He gave a whole set of buttons off his uniform to Mae
before he went--and he had his photograph taken again!

Even if he does not get over in time to do much in this war, it is
worth something to have such a perfectly trained young officer ready
for the next war!

CHAPTER X

NATIONAL SERVICE--ONE WAY

There are some phrases in our conversations now that are used so often
that they seem to be in some danger of losing their meaning. The snap
goes out of them by too much handling, like an elastic band which has
been stretched too far. One of these is "national service."

If the work of the soldier, who leaves home, position, and safety
behind him, and goes forth to meet hardship and danger, receiving as
recompense one dol