nd him.

That alone which seemed good in the horror was the courage of the modern
man. He dies as simply and as bravely as the young of Thermopylae. These
men of the factory and office are crowding more meaning into their brief
weeks by the Yser and under the shattering of Ypres than is contained in
all the last half century of clerk routine.

I

YOUNG HILDA AT THE WARS

She was an American girl from that very energetic and prosperous state
of Iowa, which if not as yet the mother of presidents, is at least the
parent of many exuberant and useful persons. Will power is grown out
yonder as one of the crops. She had a will of her own and her eye showed
a blue cerulean. Her hair was a bright yellow, lighting up a gloomy
room. It had three shades in it, and you never knew ahead of time which
shade was going to enrich the day, so that an encounter with her always
carried a surprise. For when she arranged that abundance in soft
nun-like drooping folds along the side of the head, the quieter tones
were in command. And when it was piled coil on coil on the crown, it
added inches to the prairie stature, and it was mellow like ripe corn in
the sun. But the prettiest of all was at the seashore or on the hills,
when she unbuckled it from its moorings and let it fall in its plenty to
the waist. Then its changing lights came out in a rippling play of
color, and the winds had their way with it. It was then youth's
battleflag unfurled, and strong men were ready to follow. It was such a
vivid possession that strangers were always suspicious of it, till they
knew the girl, or saw it in its unshackled freedom. She had that wayward
quality of charm, which visits at random a frail creature like Maude
Adams, and a burly personality, such as that of Mr. Roosevelt. It is a
pleasant endowment, for it leaves nothing for the possessor to do in
life except to bring it along, in order to obtain what he is asking for.
When it is harnessed to will power, the pair of them enjoy a career.

So when Hilda arrived in large London in September of the great war,
there was nothing for it but that somehow she must go to war. She did
not wish to shoot anybody, neither a German grocer nor a Flemish
peasant, for she liked people. She had always found them willing to make
a place for her in whatever was going her way. But she did want to see
what war was like. Her experience had always been of the gentler order.
Canoeing and country walks, and a flexi