ed bodies admired and liked him. Whenever they saw the familiar
figure, tall, soldierly, the sternly benevolent countenance with its
white moustache and kindling eyes, enter at the hospital doors and
walk up between the long rows of cots, their faces would light up with
pleasure and admiration, and the friendliness of their greetings would
be hearty and unalloyed.

Somehow they seemed to look upon him as the symbol and representative
of his country, the very embodiment of the spirit of his own United
States. And now that his government had definitely entered into the
war, he was in their eyes, thrice the hero and the benefactor that he
had been before.

When he entered the hospital the morning after news of America's war
declaration had been received, and turned to march up the aisle toward
his grandson's alcove, he was surprised and delighted to see from
every cot in the ward, and from every nurse on the floor, a hand
thrust up holding a tiny American flag. It was the hospital's greeting
to the American colonel, in honor of his country. He stood, for a
moment, thrilled and amazed. The demonstration struck so deeply into
his big and patriotic heart that his voice choked and his eyes filled
with tears as he passed up the long aisle.

There were many greetings as he went by.

"Hurrah for the President!"

"Vive l'Amerique!"

And one deep-throated Briton, in a voice that rolled from end to end
of the ward shouted:

"God bless the United States!"

[Illustration: The French Hospital's Greeting To the American Colonel]

But perhaps no one was more rejoiced over the fact of America's
entrance into the war than was Penfield Butler. From the moment when
he heard the news of the President's message he seemed to take on new
life. And as each day's paper recorded the developing movements, and
the almost universal sentiment of the American people in sustaining
the government at Washington, his pulses thrilled, color came into his
blanched face, and new light into eyes that not long before had looked
for many weeks at material things and had seen them not.

He was sitting up in his bed that morning, and had seen his
grandfather come up the aisle amid the forest of little flags and the
sound of cheering voices.

Grouped around him were' his mother, his Aunt Millicent, the
_medecin-chef_, and his devoted nurse, the American girl, Miss Byron.
She was waving a small, silk American flag that had long been one of
her cherishe