are eager to
see him and have him talk to them. They're glad to sit wi' him, or tae
tak' him for a bit walk. He'll no bore them. But let's be thinking of
Jock as he'll be ten years frae noo. Who'll be remembering then hoo
they felt when he first came home? They'll be thinking of the nuisance
it is tae be caring for him a' the time, and of the way he's always
aboot the hoose, needing care and attention.

What I'm afraid of is that tae many of the laddies wull be tae tired
to fit themselves tae be other than helpless creatures, despite their
wounds or their blindness. They can do wonders, if we'll help them. We
maun not encourage those laddies tae tak' it tae easy the noo. It's a
cruel hard thing to tell a boy like yon that he should be fitting
himself for life. It seems that he ought to rest a bit, and tak'
things easy, and that it's a sma' thing, after all he's done, to
promise him good and loving care all his days.

Aye, and that's a sma' thing enough--if we're sure we can keep our
promise. But after every war--and any old timer can tell ye I'm
tellin' ye the truth the noo--there have been crippled and blinded men
who have relied upon such promises--and seen them forgotten, seen
themselves become a burden. No man likes to think he's a burden. It
irks him sair. And it will be irksome specially tae laddies like those
who have focht in France.

It's no necessary that any man should do that. The miracles of to-day
are all at the service of the wounded laddies. And I've seen things
I'd no ha' believed were possible, had I had to depend on the
testimony o' other eyes than my own. I've seen men sae hurt that it
didna seem possible they could ever do a'thing for themselves again.
And I've seen those same men fend for themselves in a way that was as
astonishing as it was heart rending.

The great thing we maun all do wi' the laddies that are sae maimed and
crippled is never tae let them ken we're thinking of their
misfortunes. That's a hard thing, but we maun do it. I've seen sic a
laddie get into a 'bus or a railway carriage. And I've seen him wince
when een were turned upon him. Dinna mistake me. They were kind een
that gazed on him. The folk were gude folk; they were fu' of sympathy.
They'd ha' done anything in the world for the laddie. But--they were
doing the one thing they shouldna ha' done.

Gi'en you're an employer, and a laddie wi' a missing leg comes tae ye
seeking a job. You've sent for him, it may be; ye ken w