ur shoes near the fire or on a stove. But for hardening of
the muscles and toughening of the hide, give me Plattsburg. If you have
any complaints to make to me at any time, think well of them beforehand.

Our David that I've told you about, he turns out to be a true sport after
all. Marches with the best of us, lives as dirty as we, enjoys it all.
The young cuss, I've grown fond of him. What do you think his latest is?
He's kept hammering at me till he's made me stop buying pies and things!
Good for the pocket-book, but particularly good for my little insides.
The last three days I haven't even had a hankering for something sweet.
Tell Nelly she needn't bother to make chocolate layer cake when I come
home, like I asked her to.

I swear I feel sorry to leave the squad. I've scarcely enjoyed this last
night at all, and though I've made as much noise as anybody, it was so as
not to show how bad I feel inside. I hate the idea of not seeing the
captain again, and the Professor who bunks with me, and especially David
who marches side of me. So I've come away from all the cheering and
singing to write to you. David has asked me to write to him. And he meant
it, too.

I'm not gloomy at coming home, you know. Really I'm crazy to see you all
again. But if once in a while you see me sitting kind of lonesome, you'll
know why.

SAM.

PRIVATE GODWIN'S LAST LETTER

Plattsburg, Oct. 5, 1916.
Sitting alone, the last one in
the old empty tent.

DEAR MOTHER:--

It will be hard for me to hold myself to the systematic narrative of this
last day, I do so wish to leap to the end and to tell you great news. But
I will be firm.

I was up early this morning, as I so often am. There is always the
distant cavalry bugle to rouse one; it blows first. Seeing the embers of
our great fire still glowing in the dusk, I went there to warm myself,
and stood there listening to the sounds from the still sleepy camp.
Drowsy voices, a footfall here and there, the crackle of fire and the
tinkle of pots at the cook tents. Even when reveille had blown there was
still for several moments this sleep-drugged quiet, in the first light of
dawn.

Then there blared out the music of the full brass band in the opening
crash of "Hail, hail, the ga