Young Hilda at the Wars

t. It was black and gashed, and looked deserted. That was the merit of it, for every minute of the day and night, some watcher of the Belgians sat in the w

im was very sure. Since then, there had been no one coming down the road. But a watcher, turn by turn, was always waiting. The Commandant liked the post, for it was the

embers-and, as always, turned into the half-shattered dwelling w

try-box to-nigh

mmandant, with a shiver

e," prescribed Hilda, and s

d nightly it sounded the praise of things. The little group drew

king up from the keys, "

at?" asked

ith war just outside our window. I tell you,

She had grown weary of telling folks at home how matte

wait, to watch for some careless head over the mounded earth, and then to kill-war is drearier than slave labor, more nagging than an imperfect marriage, more dispiriting than unsuccessful sin. The pretty brass utensils of the dwellings had been pillaged. Can

ts instruments of pleasure. With elation and laughter the soldiers had discovered it, when the

, soon after its arrival in thei

sician. Yes, together we played through an afternoon. And the instrument on which I played was a Broadwood. I cannot now ever see it, without remembering that

" said Hilda; "like t

but that is it. It is swift and strong. He comes out

ou ever gave up your music," said H

ave known this thing was coming. A man could not do otherwise than hold himself ready for that. And now it is le

ourage. Often the strength of his fighting group was sapped, till one could count his men on the fingers of the hands. But always there were fresh fellows ready to go the road with him. He never ordered them into danger. He merely called for volunteers. When he went up against absurd odds, and w

ing at their side, but they tramp firmly to a certain end. War lets loose the rich life of subconsciousness which most mortals keep bottled up in the sleepy secular days of humdrum. Peril and sudden death uncork those heady vapors, a

men, and his pockets were heavy with the keepsakes of young soldiers, a photograph of the beloved, a treasured coin, a good-bye letter, which he was commissioned to carry to the dear one, when the giver should fall. With little faith that he himself would execute

the sour dead lay too thickly over those fields, for nature to make her great recovery in one se

s sitting at ease

ng badly that evening and she knew it. She fumbled with the sheaves of music, and chucked Scotch under t

ntal, and full of old-world courtesies, but he was used to be

ttle music, if you please

ding off the soap-box which served to

chided Scotch. "The Commanda

right," s

of her hidden life came to an utterance with her music

andant from his seat in the shadows

an American, haltingly. Did he not carry on most of his converse with them in French-always, when eloquent or sentimental? But unfailingly he used his formula, when he was highly pleased. The

ted his

lightly to her, and waved the tribute in her di

said he, with a v

bacarolle,"

y bacarolles,"

, "and yet, after all, th

he girl in her fought against the response that she knew was coming. She began t

?" he inquired, "vous

mmandant," s

," he said; "c

"they go with you, wherever you are. It is mus

not care to have an evening of gaiety sag to

cheerily; "our own composer, you kno

gh the opening

your turn

old nights by the window," replied the Comman

mself at the

red to the girl, who was

untouched by the war. The fields were crowded thick with the bodies of faithful cavalry and artillery horses. Dogs and cats had wasted away in the seared area. Cattle had been mowed down by machine guns. Heavy sows and their tiny yelping litter, were shot as they trundled about, or, surviving the far-cast invisibl

lling to its mate. The Commandant heard it,

he said; "the cry of the little bir

hells?" as

ravely; "each one of them, as it whistles in t

answere

e ocean waves of sound. It can't give us back one little part of what is. Only a poor, stray sound out of the many can get itself register

ud fell somewhere up the line. As the shell was wailing in the air, a hidden string, inside the frame, quivered through its length, and gave out an under-hum. It

" said the Commandant; "the r

ck the note th

d he; "the others are lost in the

acher, with a sudden gesture of her hand a

ens, what is that?" she added, as a footstep crunched in the

red and saluted

rted; "they have just sent a shell into the tracks. It is dange

Commandant, and he left swiftly

nd her. Suddenly she released the pedal, and lifted her hands from the keys, as if they burned her. One stri

exclaimed Mrs. Bracher. "You've

g again," s

ent out into the night. They h

a," called S

Bracher. "I know her in these moods. Yo

see where she goe

ed the house, the dark, wrecked house, where from the second story window, a perpetual look-out was kept, li

they heard her sa

, "I am on duty here. But you-what brings you

u go," the girl replied

ated the Commandant in a

ill not go without you. Come-" her voice tu

said the Commandant.

e said, "but I have co

floor, heavy boots on the boarding, and the two, Commandant and girl, descend

id the Commandant. "Come, r

ness, came a low thunder from beyond the Yser. In the tick of a pulse-beat, the moaning of a shell throbbed on the air and, with instant vibrancy, the singing string of the piano at their back answered the flight of the shell. And in the same breath, they heard a roar a

O

in deep purple on canals seeping at foundations of castle and church, with the sa

solves its mark. Now its seven-mile journey is ended. It has found its home and its home is a ruin. Over the peaceful earth and under a silent sky, bits of destruction are travelling, projections of the human will. Where lately there was a soft outline, rising from the soil as if the stones of the field had been ca

ounds of chemical. That can be burned and broken in the passage of one cloud over the moon which not all th