fully, about Braden's plans. He was
likely to be over there for a long time,--just as long as he was needed or
able to endure the strain of hard, incessant work in the field hospitals.

"I wanted to go," the little man was saying, and that brought her back to
earth. "The worst way, Anne. But what could I do? Drive an automobile,
yes, but what's that? Brady wouldn't hear to it. He said it was nonsense,
me talking of going over there and getting in people's way. Of course, I'd
probably faint the first time I saw a mutilated dead body, and that
_would_ irritate the army. They'd have to stop everything while they gave
me smelling salts. I suppose I'd get used to seeing 'em dead all over the
place, just as everybody does,--even the worst of cowards. I'm not a
coward, Anne. I drive my racing-car at ninety miles, I play polo, I go up
in Scotty's aeroplane whenever I get a chance, I can refuse to take a
drink when I think I've had enough, and if that doesn't prove that I've
got courage I'd like to know what it does prove. But I'm not a fighting
man. Nobody would ever be afraid of me. There isn't a German on earth who
would run if he saw me charging toward him. He'd just wait to see what the
dickens I was up to. Something would tell him that I wouldn't have the
heart to shoot him, no matter how necessary it might be for me to do so.
Still I wanted to go. That's what amazes me. I can't understand it."

"I can understand it, you poor old simpleton," cried Anne. "You wanted to
go because you are _not_ afraid."

"I wish I could think so," said he, really perplexed. "Brady is different.
He'd be a soldier as is a soldier. He's going over to save men's lives,
however, and that's something I wouldn't be capable of doing. If I went
they'd expect me to kill 'em, and that's what I'd hate. Good Lord, Anne, I
couldn't shoot down a poor German boy that hadn't done a thing to me--or to
my country, for that matter. If they'd only let me go as a spy, or even a
messenger boy, I'd jump at the chance. But they'd want me to kill
people,--and I couldn't do it, that's all."

"Is Braden well? Does he look fit, Simmy? You know there will be great
hardships, vile weather, exposure--"

"He's thin and--well, I'll be honest with you, he doesn't look as fit as
might be."

She paled. "Has he been ill?"

"Not in body, but--he's off his feed, Anne. Maybe you know the reason why."
He looked at her narrowly.

"I have not seen him in months," she said evas