made confession of the surprising fact. Peggy smiled.

"That proves it," she said. "I don't believe you have anything wrong
with you. This is plain talking. It's horrid, I know, but it's best to
get through with it once and for all."

Some men would have taken deep offense, but Doggie, conscientious if
ineffective, was gnawed for the first time by a suspicion that Peggy
might possibly be right. He desired to act honorably.

"I'll do," he said, "whatever you think proper."

"Good!" said Peggy. "Get Doctor Murdoch to overhaul you thoroughly with
a view to the army. If he passes you, take a commission."

She put out her hand. Doggie took it firmly.

"Very well," he said. "I agree."

"You're flabby," announced Doctor Murdoch, the next morning, to an
anxious Doggie, after some minutes of thumping and listening, "but
that's merely a matter of unused muscles. Physical training will set it
right in no time. Otherwise, my dear Trevor, you're in splendid health.
There's not a flaw in your whole constitution."

Doggie crept out of bed, put on a violet dressing-gown, and wandered to
his breakfast like a man in a nightmare. But he could not eat. He
swallowed a cup of coffee and took refuge in his own room. He was
frightened--horribly frightened, caught in a net from which there was no
escape. He had given his word to join the army if he should be passed by
Murdoch. He had been more than passed! Now he would have to join; he
would have to fight. He would have to live in a muddy trench, sleep in
mud, eat in mud, plow through mud. Doggie was shaken to his soul, but he
had given his word and he had no thought of going back on it.

The fateful little letter bestowing a commission on Doggie arrived two
weeks later; he was a second lieutenant in a battalion of the new army.
A few days afterward he set off for the training-camp.

He wrote to Peggy regularly. The work was very hard, he said, and the
hours were long. Sometimes he confessed himself too tired to write more
than a few lines. It was a very strange life--one he never dreamed could
have existed. There was the riding-school. Why hadn't he learned to ride
as a boy? Peggy was filled with admiration for his courage. She realized
that he was suffering acutely in his new and rough environment, but he
made no complaint.

Then there came a time when Doggie's letters grew rarer and shorter. At
last they ceased altogether. One evening an unstamped envelope addressed
to Peggy was