* *

A week later she and the child--
A blue-eyed, self-assertive mite--
Were at the camp,
She carrying it (the nurse was left behind)
And the passports that allowed her to see him
One hour, with a guard five yards away.
Some of his polite impudence was gone,
Yet he threw back his head and shoulders
And shrugged as his wife and boy came in.
"Always late," said he, after a perfunctory kiss,
"You--and your country!"
She stared long at him, holding the child close,
Her own round, bronze head bowed.

Then, with a swift glance at the guard
Thoughtfully chewing a straw and looking
At the city of shacks,
She spoke.
"Did you know, Karl," she whispered,
"That my brother was on that transport--
My only brother--a soldier--my only blood?
If it had gone down--that transport--been sunk--"
"Well?" said he. That was all.
"My brother--my only--Karl!"
"Well?" said he again. "What of it?"
Then--her little head lifted, her eyes gone mad--
"This!" she said. "Rather than give
Life to another human scorpion like you--
Man in form only!--Lower than the floor of hell itself;
Rather than have my blood mingle with
The foul poison that is yours,
To make a child of ours--
This: I give him back to you--
And recall my love--all of my love!"
Again he shrugged his shoulders,
Yawned--and saw, too late.

Swift as the eagle that drives a lamb to death
She whipped a hat-pin from her dainty hat,
Drove it with steady aim
Into the baby's heart
And handed back to the gulping man
All that was left of what had once meant joy--
A dead baby with red bubbles on its lips!

THE 'SKEETER FLEET

Mighty little doin'--yet a lot to do--
While the navy's standin' guard, we are lookin' out;
Patrol boats in shoals, good old craft and new
Hustle here and skitter there--what's it all about?

Speed boats and slow boats
Loaf around or run,
But ev'ry unit of this fleet
Mounts a wicked gun!

Pleasure craft a-plenty, all dolled up in gray
Grim and ugly war-paint dress, we're a gloomy lot,
Slidin' in and out, never in the way.
Gosh! It's wearin' on the nerves, waitin' round--for what?

Some boats are bum boats,
Layin' for the Hun--
But ev'ry boat that flies our Flag
Mounts a wicked gun!

Stickin' for the Big Show! Will it ever start?
When it does, Good night, Irene! We won't make a squeak.
"Boy Scouts of the Sea," watch us do our part
If a raider or a sub. gives us just