ealy Jones
try to ride the bay horse.

"But this is the end of my paper, and I've got to go back to the
hospital. To-morrow I am to be put on regular duty. That's why I am
writing you this long letter. It may be a good while before I write
another; so good-bye, old pals. I'll come back some day if I live.

Yours,
ZAIDOS."

CHAPTER VII

A BIT OF ROMANCE

Zaidos sent off his letter and continued his explorations.

He managed to slip away from Velo finally and was greatly relieved.
Somehow everything went along better without Velo tagging at his heels.
Zaidos felt ashamed when he tried to analyze his feelings. He was at a
loss to understand himself. Even Nurse Helen, who frankly confessed to
Zaidos that she disliked Velo, was obliged to say that there was
nothing openly objectionable about him. His manners were easy and
graceful, and he was quicker to jump to her assistance than any man on
the detail.

He treated Zaidos with a protective fondness that was almost funny. He
watched him, saw that he went to bed and arose on schedule time, helped
dress his scratch, and looked after him generally like a faithful and
devoted nurse.

Yet Nurse Helen pondered. She never once let him handle one of the
dressings which were rapidly healing the ugly little tear in Zaidos'
arm. Zaidos, escaping from Velo's watchful eye, felt like a glad
little, bad little boy who has run away from school and who refuses to
think of supper time, when he must go home and find that father has the
note teacher has sent home by some _other_ little boy. He went here
and there, his sunny smile and ready kindliness making friends
everywhere.

Wherever he sat down to rest some soldier told him something of
interest. Gunners explained the watch-like perfection of their guns.
Snipers told thrilling tales of long shots. The cooks showed him how
cleverly the big field stoves came apart, and how they could be
assembled at a moment's notice.

At supper time his new friend, Lieutenant Cunningham, called him. He
had kept a place for Zaidos beside him. Velo had been omitted from the
group, so he smilingly sat down in another bend of the trench with his
pannikin of stew and cup of coffee, seemingly quite content. But black
hate raged in his black heart!

Velo was a strange sort. He was a coward; he dreaded danger and
endured hardships badly. Yet the thought that harm might come to him
never entered his head. He was deeply super