ous upon the floor before her husband could reach her.

The history of pain contains no more terrible chapter. That night the
dying girl told the French officials and her husband the crimes and
indignities to which she had been subjected. Two other babes had been
born under German brutality, and both had died, even as this infant
would die, and when a few days later her husband buried her he was
another man. The iron in him had become steel. The blade of intellect
had become a two-edged sword. His strength had become the strength of
ten. He decided not to survive this war. Going back to the front, he
consecrated his every day to one task--to kill Germans and save other
women from the foulest degenerates that have ever cursed the face of the
earth.

8. An American Knight in France

Coming around the corner of the street in a little French village near
Toul, I beheld an incident that explained the all but adoring love
given to our American boys by the French children. The women and the
girls of that region had suffered unspeakable things at the hands of the
German swine. Photographs were taken of the dead bodies of girls that
can never be shown. The terror of the women at the very approach of the
German was beyond all words. The very words "Les Boches" send the blood
from the cheeks of the children. The women of the Dakotas on hearing
that the Sioux Indians were on the war-path with their scalping knives
were never so terrified as the French girls are on hearing the German
soldiers are on the march. Even the little children have black rings
under their eyes, with a strained, tense expression as they stand
tremulous and ready to run.

On the sidewalk near me was a little French girl of about six, with her
little brother, perhaps four years of age. Suddenly around the corner
came an American boy in khaki. He was swinging forward with step sure
and alert. The children turned, but there was no terror in their eyes
and no fear in their hearts. They did not know the American soldier;
never before had they seen his face, but his khaki meant safety. It
meant a shield lifted between the German monster and themselves.
Forgetting everything, the little French girl started on a run towards
the American soldier, while her little brother came hobbling after. She
ran straight to the American boy, flung her arms around his legging,
rubbed her cheek against his trousers and patted his knee with her
little hands. A moment later when