t she could regain the peace of mind that
had of late deserted her.

The Doxology found her weakening, but the Benediction stiffened her
resolve, and when the final Amen sounded, she turned blindly to the man
beside her, and said, hardly above her breath:

"If you ain't got any place to go to dinner, you can come home with me."

The tall figure turned toward her, and a pair of melancholy brown eyes
looked down into hers:

"You will excuse if I do not quite comprehend your meaning," he said
politely, with a strong foreign accent.

Miss Mink was plunged into instant panic; suppose he was a German?
Suppose she should be convicted for entertaining a spy! Then she
remembered his uniform and was slightly reassured.

"I said would you come home to dinner with me?" she repeated weakly,
with a fervent prayer that he would decline.

But the soldier had no such intention. He bowed gravely, and picked up
his hat and overcoat.

Miss Mink, looking like a small tug towing a big steamer, shamefacedly
made her way to the nearest exit, and got him out through the
Sunday-school room. She would take him home through a side street, feed
him and send him away as soon as possible. It was a horrible ordeal, but
Miss Mink was not one to turn back once she had faced a difficult
situation. As they passed down the broad steps into the brilliant
October sunshine, she noticed with relief that his shoes were not
muddy. Then, before she could make other observations, her mind was
entirely preoccupied with a large, firm hand that grasped her elbow, and
seemed to half lift her slight weight from step to step. Miss Mink's
elbow was not used to such treatment and it indignantly freed itself
before the pavement was reached. The first square was traveled in
embarrassed silence, then Miss Mink made a heroic effort to break the
ice:

"My name is Mink," she said, "Miss Libby Mink. I do dress-making over on
Sixth Street."

"I am Bowinski," volunteered her tall companion, "first name Alexis. I
am a machinist before I enlist in the army."

"I knew you were some sort of a Dago," said Miss Mink.

"But no, Madame, I am Russian. My home is in Kiev in Ukrania."

"Why on earth didn't you stay there?" Miss Mink asked from the depths of
her heart.

The soldier looked at her earnestly. "Because of the persecution," he
said. "My father he was in exile. His family was suspect. I come alone
to America when I am but fifteen."

"Well I guess you're sorry en