Soldier Silhouettes on Our Front

the hospital with him and it seemed to me, judging by the conversation with the boys in the hundreds of cots, that he h

led him

rance in the way he had won the hearts of the boys. I was curious to know. Somethin

was a picture on the desk. I seized on it immediately, for next to a sweet-faced baby about the finest thing on earth to look at is a

s I picked th

ine pair

stumbled into his secret, for a look

he phone and said that something awful had happened

one in swimming in the river and had gotten beyond his de

ought it back,"

ce what I said

hought that we would like to come over here and do for all the boys in the army what we could not do for our own. And now wife

that men and women of your type are here looking after their lads it wi

d for her. He didn't remember her name, but she had darned his socks, she had written letters for him, she had mothered him, she had tried to help him. They wanted to put the poor lad out, but

boys call her 'The W

ympat

t through service there in France, through service to your sons, mothers and fathers of America, this bra

. They are black silhouettes, but they have a glorious background of sunrise and hope. I tell of no sorrows here th

any soldiers there, but he is serving and brothering, tenderly and faithfully, the few that are there. N

was a minister at home, and had given up his church for the duration of the war. Both were loo

no hymns had been selected, and that things were not in very good order for the service. I was a little annoyed at this, but I am thankful with a

istic thing: "I didn't want to spoil the service. I thought

those precious letters. Her last words and thoughts were treasures; all that he had left; but they were spear-thrusts of pain also. But bravely he fought out his battle of grief, and tenderly he ministered, mothers and fathers

France. It had been hard to leave home, especially hard to lea

ory; some of us who remember what the parting from loved one

brave like Betty," and who even admonished her daddy in the same way, "Don't cry, daddy! Be brave like Betty!" for

who are leaving their homes, not for six months' or a year's service, but 'for the period of the war,' and leaving with so mu

etter what it means to the daddies in the army who leave th

dn't visualized it before. Consequently, she had been brave, and had even boasted of her bravery. But now she had nothing to be brave about, for as the train started to move she suddenly burst into sob

hood from the observation-car. It was a half-hour before he da

it became contagious, for a kindly old gentleman, thinking that the little l

I want my daddy!" and the storm burst again. Then here and there all over the boat the women we

secretary when, upon landing in France, he got

was stunned

that there was nothing that he could do at home; to sta

heart he went into a canteen, and will any wonder who read this story that he has won the undyin

are, what triumphs o

lhouettes of Sorrow, but each has a b

h in black. They walked slowly up the steps and in through the great do

day they come, that every day they ke

ome so long after h

or the other aviator

kfulness that no harm had come to my own wife and baby. But the memory of that woman's brave pilgrimage of prayer each day fo

certain was immediate death, I had just one thought," a y

"What

at will the poor kiddi

n-load of German boys leaving a certain German town to fill in the gaps caused by the losses at Verdun; and because this sorrow is characteri

to their boys there wasn't a tear. There was laughter everywhere, shouting and smiles, as if those poo

I turned in disgust to walk away when a woman near me fainted, and I caught her as she fell. Then a low moan went up all over that station platform. It was as if those mothers moaned as one. There was no hysteria, just a low moan that swept

it has a background of the golden glory of bravery which is the admiration of all the world. A recent despatch says tha

brave men standing as doorkeepers in hotels, with arms gone, with crosses for bravery on their breasts, but somehow the cloud of sorrow is always fringed with gold and silver. He has memories of funeral services in Notre Dame and the

God "still makes roses," as John O

oses-God

ope in Hi

time still

a sort of a motto of faith during my service in France. I have quoted it everywhere I have spoke

ine, and back in the rest-camps, and in the ports, and everywhere I have quoted it I have had many requests to give copies of it to the boys. I qu

just wanted to shake hands, but much to my astonishment most of them wanted to know if I would give them a

ance and has seen the suffering, the heartache, the loneliness, the mud

ng a green field like a great blanket. These poppies are exactly like our golden California poppies. Like them they grow in

se years of war every last one of them had been dipped in the blood of those brave lads who have died f

ast of the Atlantic. On the road we passed many old-fashioned men

us because of its serene appearance and its cleanliness. A gray-h

r lunch a beautiful girl of about twenty-five, dressed in mourning, stepped to the doorway, her black eyes f

in the day as we drove along: "It is all so quiet and beautiful here, with the old-gold broom flowering everywhere on

g the carts, women are tilling the fields? Look at that woman over there pulli

rywhere women were working in the field, and in one place a woman was

nd I'll show you what corresponds to our 'Honor Rolls' in the churche

d yet out of this town close to five hundred boys had been killed in the Great War. Their names were posted, written with many a flourish by some villa

broom and poppies as were its fields, it had not gone untouched by the cruel hand of war. It,

me home and romp with her as of old. At the lunch we were told all about it. True, there were tears shed in the telling, and these not alone by these brave Frenchwomen and the little girl, but it was a sweet, simple story of courage.

erful roses that I have ever seen anywhere, not excepting California. Great white roses, so large and fragrant that they seemed unreal, delicately moulded red roses, whic

ould command: "They are the most

autiful America?" sh

iful even than i

shall see him some time again. They come back each spring. He loved them and cared for them when he was alive. Even on his leave

ght the idea, and her face beamed with a new light, and she said: "Ah, yes, it is as I believe, t

y that has sheltered the same family for centuries; twined about with great red a

hope in H

time still

een blowing. I, who had lived in California for several years, wondered at this blizzard and revelled in it, although I had had to drive amid its fury, some

one time we were headed directly for the German lines, which were close, but an American sentry stoppe

ed: "To

Turn around. You're the third truck that's got lost in t

had heard were the most heavily fortified in all France, loomed like two huge sentinels before the city. The Germans knew this al

t we had seen them belch fire many a time

were robed in white. Not a spot of black appeared. Even the great guns on the top of the hill looked like white fingers pointing tow

is full of hate and hurt and wounds and blood and death an

y the great black cloud of smoke that unrolled in the sky when a great Jack Johnson had expl

and tramples it underfoot. It takes the most beautiful architecture in the world and makes a pile of dust a

ugly blotches were white and beautiful. Ammunition dumps, horrible in their suggestion of death, seemed now to have been covered over and hidden by

't it? It's a shame to think that when we get back from the front it

ans something t

does i

ns the

ou talking

ill grow, that flowers will bloom in these fields again, that people will come back to their homes in peace. It is symbolical of that great white peace that will come forever, when the

me. It was the dream of the Christ I knew. It was the dream of the prophets of old. It was Tennyson's dream. Such

oses-God

pe in Him

time still

d poppies in the fields of France; the blanketing of the earth with a covering of white snow sufficient to hide the ugliness of war, even for a day, all give promise of the God who

ere in