visable to have him go right on with it. "And so, Nettie," he said,
"you had better cancel your application to go overseas, for of course,
if I do not go, you will not."

For a moment she did not grasp what he meant. He spoke of it so
casually. Not go! The thought of her present life of inactivity was
never so repulsive. But silence fell upon her and she made no reply.

"We will not know definitely about it for a few weeks," he said, and
went on reading.

After that, Mrs. Winters attended every recruiting meeting at which
her husband spoke, eagerly memorizing his words, hardly knowing why,
but she felt that she might need them. She had never been able to
argue with any one--one adverse criticism of her position always
caused her defense to collapse. So she collected all the material she
could get on the subject of personal responsibility and sacrifice. Her
husband's brilliant way of phrasing became a delight to her. But
always, as she listened, vague doubts arose in her mind.

One day when she was sewing at the Red Cross rooms, the women were
talking of a sad case that had occurred at the hospital. A soldier's
wife had died, leaving a baby two weeks old and another little girl of
four, who had been taken to the Children's Shelter, and who had cried
so hard to be left with her mother. One of the women had been to see
the sick woman the day before she died, and was telling the others
about her.

"A dear little saint on earth she was--well bred, well educated, but
without friends. Her only anxiety was for her children and sympathy
for her husband. 'This will be sad news for poor Bob,' she said, 'but
he'll know I did my best to live--I cannot get my breath--that's the
worst--if I could only get my breath--I would abide the pain _some
way_.' The baby is lovely, too,--a fine healthy boy. Now I wonder if
there is any woman patriotic enough to adopt those two little ones
whose mother is dead and whose father is in the trenches. The baby
went to the Shelter yesterday."

"Of course they are well treated there," said Mrs. Winters.

"Well treated!" cried the president--"they are fed and kept warm and
given all the care the matron and attendants can give them; but how
can two or three women attend to twenty-five children? They do all
they can, but it's a sad place just the same. I always cry when I see
the mother-hungry look on their faces. They want to be owned and
loved--they need some one belonging to them. Don't you know