hem when they first came in; "show
men" in cheap, loud sport suits, ranch boys in knitted
waistcoats, machinists with the grease still on their fingers,
farm-hands like Dan, in their one Sunday coat. Some of them
carried paper suitcases tied up with rope, some brought all they
had in a blue handkerchief. But they all came to give and not to
ask, and what they offered was just themselves; their big red
hands, their strong backs, the steady, honest, modest look in
their eyes. Sometimes, when he had helped the medical examiner,
Claude had noticed the anxious expression in the faces of the
long lines of waiting men. They seemed to say, "If I'm good
enough, take me. I'll stay by." He found them like that to work
with; serviceable, good-natured, and eager to learn. If they
talked about the war, or the enemy they were getting ready to
fight, it was usually in a facetious tone; they were going to
"can the Kaiser," or to make the Crown Prince work for a living.
Claude, loved the men he trained with,--wouldn't choose to live
in any better company.

The freight train swung into the river valley that meant
home,--the place the mind always came back to, after its farthest
quest. Rapidly the farms passed; the haystacks, the cornfields,
the familiar red barns--then the long coal sheds and the water
tank, and the train stopped.

On the platform he saw Ralph and Mr. Royce, waiting to welcome
him. Over there, in the automobile, were his father and mother,
Mr. Wheeler in the driver's seat. A line of motors stood along
the siding. He was the first soldier who had come home, and some
of the townspeople had driven down to see him arrive in his
uniform. From one car Susie Dawson waved to him, and from another
Gladys Farmer. While he stopped and spoke to them, Ralph took his
bags.

"Come along, boys," Mr. Wheeler called, tooting his horn, and he
hurried the soldier away, leaving only a cloud of dust behind.

Mr. Royce went over to old man Dawson's car and said rather
childishly, "It can't be that Claude's grown taller? I suppose
it's the way they learn to carry themselves. He always was a
manly looking boy."

"I expect his mother's a proud woman," said Susie, very much
excited. "It's too bad Enid can't be here to see him. She would
never have gone away if she'd known all that was to happen."

Susie did not mean this as a thrust, but it took effect. Mr.
Royce turned away and lit a cigar with some difficulty. His hands
had grown very