erness to serve, did not realize where he was nor
how he got there. Naturally he would have been denied permission to go
forward during an engagement--that was no time nor place for a
noncombatant. But he probably had not asked. He had made his way
through a rain of lead and steel to a zone of comparative safety. And
there he stood, as if bewildered, with his baskets of cheer on his
arms.

And now a sudden change in the battle made the zone of comparative
safety one of danger. For the range of the German guns became shorter.
The muzzles were being depressed to seek out those intrepid Americans
who had rushed over the first Hun trenches and were waiting to rush
onward again. This must not be, thought the Huns, and so they sought
them out to kill them.

So it was that as Bob spied the "fried holes" the dispenser of them
gave a start as a bullet or a piece of shell flew close to his head.
He was in grave danger now, and realized it. But he did not falter. He
gave one backward glance, not with an idea of retreating, that is
sure, but to see if there were any near him in that direction whom he
might serve. Then he saw the prone lines ahead of him.

"Me for some of those!" yelled Bob, as he rose from his improvised
trench.

"Lie still, you chump!" shouted Ned. "Do you want to be killed?"

"No more than you did when you got the wood from the busted truck,"
was the answer. "But I've got to have some of those doughnuts!"

And Bob, never heeding the fact that he would be a shining target for
the guns of the Germans, started to run toward the Salvation Army
man.

Some of the officers, from where they were stationed among the troops,
saw him.

"Come back! Come back! Who is he? What's he doing? Is he going to
desert in the face of the enemy?" were some of the commands and
cries.

But it needed only a glance to show that Bob never had a notion of
deserting. He ran toward the man with the baskets of doughnuts on his
arms. Crisp, golden-brown doughnuts they were, fresh from one of the
traveling kitchens where, behind the lines, the Salvation Army lassies
made them--a devoted service that will never be forgotten, but will
rank with that of the Red Cross and be immortal.

And now, as might have been expected, the Germans saw the two
figures--the only upright ones in that particular neighborhood. And
the inevitable followed. They were fired at.

Both offered good marks, but Fate, Providence, or whatever you choose
to call