"I just want you to know," she said, "that I am still interested in you,

even if it isn't going to be anything else. And that I am ridiculously

proud of you. Isn't it queer to look back on last Winter and think what

a lot of careless idiots we were? I suppose war doesn't really change

us, but it does make us wonder what we've got in us. I am surprised to

find that I am a great deal better than I ever thought I was!"

There was comfort in the letter, but no thrill. He was far away from all

that now, like one on the first stage of a long journey, with his eyes

ahead.

Then one day he saw a familiar but yet strange figure striding along

the country road. Graham was map-sketching that day, and the strange but

familiar figure was almost on him when he looked up. It was extremely

military, and looked like a general at least. Also it was very red in

the face, and was clutching doggedly in its teeth an old briar pipe.

But what had appeared from the front to be an ultra military figure on

closer inspection turned out to be a procession. Pulling back hard on a

rope behind was the company goat, Elinor.

The ultra-military figure paused by Graham's sketching-stool, and said,

"Young man, do you know where this creature belongs? I found her trying

to commit suicide on the rifle range--why, Graham!"

It was Doctor Haverford. He grew a trifle less military then, and

borrowed some pipe tobacco. He looked oddly younger, Graham thought, and

rather self-conscious of his uniform.

"Every inch a soldier, Graham," he chuckled. "Still have to use a hook

and eye at the bottom of the coat--blouse," he corrected himself. "But

I'm getting my waist-line again. How's the--whoa!" he called, as Elinor

wrapped the rope around his carefully putted legs. "Infernal animal!" he

grumbled. "I just paid a quarter to have these puttees shined. How's the

family?"

"Mother has gone to Linndale. The house is finished. Have you been here

long, sir?"

"Two weeks. Hang it all, Graham, I wish I'd let this creature commit

suicide. She's--do you know Delight is here?"

"Here? Why, no."

"At the hostess house," said the chaplain, proudly. "Doing her bit, too.

Mrs. Haverford wanted to come too, and sew buttons on, or something.

But I told her two out of three was a fair percentage. I hear that

Washington has sent for your father.




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