w that a long, weary time is
ahead of the one who sits next you before he comes again to his
father's house. Even though the conversation is of the gayest, every
one knows what every one else is thinking.

* * * * *

There is no use trying--I cannot write the story of that morning.... I
will tell you of other troop-trains I have seen go. I will tell you of
another boy who carried off all the good-byes with a high hand and
great spirits, and said something to every one of the girls who
brought him candy, telling one that he would remember her in his will,
promising another that he would marry her when he got to be Admiral of
the Swiss Navy, but who, when he came to say good-bye to his father,
suddenly grew very white and very limp, and could only say, "Oh, dad!
Good old dad!"

* * * * *

I will tell you of other troop-trains I have seen go out, with other
boys waving to other women who strained their eyes and winked hard,
hard, hard to keep back the tears, and stood still, quite still until
the last car had disappeared around the bend, and the last whistle had
torn the morning air into shreds and let loose a whole wild chorus of
echoes through the quiet streets!

* * * * *

There was a mist in the air this morning, and a white frost covered
the trees with beautiful white crystals that softened their leafless
limbs. It made a soft and graceful drapery on the telegraph poles and
wires. It carpeted the edges of the platform that had not been walked
on, and even covered the black roofs of the station buildings and the
flatcars which stood in the yard. It seemed like a beautiful white
decoration for the occasion, a beautiful, heavy, elaborate
mourning--for those who had gone--and white, of course--all
white,--because they were so young!

* * * * *

Then we came home. It was near the opening time of the stores, and the
girls were on their way to work, but their footfalls made no sound on
the pavement. Even the street-cars seemed to glide quietly by. The
city seemed grave and serious and sad, and disposed to go softly....
In the store windows the blinds were still down--ghastly, shirred
white things which reminded me uncomfortably of the lining of a
coffin! Over the hotel on the corner, the Calgary Beer Man, growing
pale in the sickly dawn, still poured--and lifted--and drank--and
poured--and li