hen closing-time came. They
wouldn't give out any more mail--after my three hours' wait, too."

"What did you do?"

"Well, it seems every one gives way to the womenfolk. So I happened to
see a girl friend of mine, and she said she would go round first thing
in the morning and enquire if there were any letters for us. She brought
me this bunch."

I indicated the pile of letters.

"I'm told lots of women in town make a business of getting letters for
men, and charge a dollar a letter. It's awful how hard it is to get
mail. Half of the clerks seem scarcely able to read the addresses on the
envelopes. It's positively sad to watch the faces of the poor wretches
who get nothing, knowing, too, that the chances are there is really
something for them sorted away in a wrong box."

"That's pretty tough."

"Yes, you should have seen them; men just ravenous to hear from their
families; a clerk carelessly shuffling through a pile of letters.
'Beachwood, did you say? Nope, nothing for you.' 'Hold on there! what's
that in your hand? Surely I know my wife's writing.' 'Beachwood--yep,
that's right. Looked like Peachwood to me. All right. Next there.' Then
the man would go off with his letter, looking half-wrathful,
half-radiant. Well, I enjoyed my trip, but I'm glad I'm home."

I threw myself on my bunk voluptuously, and began re-reading my letters.
There were some from Garry and some from Mother. While still
unreconciled to the life I was leading, they were greatly interested in
my wildly cheerful accounts of the country. They were disposed to be
less censorious, and I for my part was only too glad Mother was well
enough to write, even if she did scold me sometimes. So I was able to
open my mail without misgivings.

But I was still aglow with memories of the last few hours. Once more I
had seen Berna, spent moments with her of perfect bliss, left her with
my mind full of exaltation and bewildered gratitude. She was the perfect
answer to my heart's call, a mirror that seemed to flash back the
challenge of my joy. I saw the love mists gather in her eyes, I felt her
sweet lips mould themselves to mine, I thrilled with the sheathing
ardour of her arms. Never in my fondest imaginings had I conceived that
such a wealth of affection would ever be for me. Buoyant she was, brave,
inspiring, and always with her buoyancy so wondrous tender I felt that
willingly would I die for her.

Once again I told her of my fear, my anxiety for her s