s fellow laborers came and sat down only a few feet
away. They saw him, of course, but seemed not to resent his presence;
so, after smiling with the innocent, boyish expression peculiar to him,
Billy continued eating. He brought his lunch with him every day in a
basket as the other laborers did.

One of the two men, whom he thought a Swede, was rather an especial
friend, although the only fashion in which they so far had expressed
their friendliness was by smiling whenever they met.

He was a dull, good-natured fellow, blond and mild of manner. "Seems a
pity to have to bring all these boys away from their homes and their
mothers and sweethearts to plant them down in this desert in the heat of
summer," he remarked to his companion, after he had bitten off a large
hunk of sour bread and was slowly chewing on it like a cud. Finally,
taking out his soiled handkerchief, he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.

"I have not been in the West very long, and it is sure enough God's
country?" the blond workman went on. "But what a lot of waste land
waiting for men to water and then plough and sow it! I thought all this
desert land was soon to be redeemed and now all the young men have to go
away from their own country into another land to fight. Sometimes it's a
hard thing for a dull, common man to understand the good of war."

Billy stopped eating and slid over a few feet nearer. His blue eyes were
beginning to shine.

"Wouldn't it be great if each man who has pledged his life to serve his
country would do some deed which would _save_ life instead of _taking_
it?" he demanded. Then Billy paused and grew hot and cold by turns. He
was not very sure of what he was trying to argue except in a vague
fashion, and there was something about his last remark which held a
suggestion of treason. He did not intend being disloyal. It was only
that his preconceived ideas of right and wrong had been greatly troubled
by the present war, and Billy was not willing to accept conditions as he
found them, possessing the spirit which must solve its own problems.

He reddened as he found his new acquaintances staring at him
suspiciously.

"Then you think peace brings the great mass of the people better fortune
than war?" asked the other man, who had been quiet until now. He was a
little, dark man, probably of Italian origin.

Billy hesitated. "I don't know," he answered, "I only believe peace
should make men wiser and kinder to each other.