e of scarcity. Mice fought shy of the canteen, and
"Skilly" visibly suffered from lack of nourishment. A sergeant's wife
provided welcome hospitality; but no sooner was "Skilly" billeted
outside the canteen than the plague returned, and so she was recalled
urgently to active service. Again was the enemy routed; but again came
the wilting-time of dire want. Virtue, however, did not go unrewarded a
second time. "Skilly" had earned honourable mention, and representations
to the proper quarters resulted in an order that she should be rationed
so long as she remained on canteen duty.

With times of ease came time for love. In due course "Skilly" presented
an absentee and unidentifiable spouse with five bouncing baby kittens.
Throughout their extreme infancy the family throve; but the time came
when the devoted mother was no longer able to supply sufficient
nutriment for five lusty youngsters. Clearly something must be done, and
the canteen sergeant was the man to do it. He sent in a proper formal
application to the regimental powers, requesting that increased feline
rations be ordered as "subsistence for Canteen Skilly and family of
five."

Time passed, and--let this be read and remembered by all carping critics
who accuse our army of want of method and business sense--in due course
the application was returned, properly entered, checked, signed and
counter-signed. The verdict run thus: "Application on behalf of Canteen
Skilly refused, as apparently she married off the strength of the
regiment."

* * * * *

"No youth should be regarded educationally as a finished article
at 1 years of age." _Yorkshire Post._

Mr. Fisher will be pleased.

* * * * *

"A MERRY HEART GOES ALL THE DAY."

I jogged along the footpath way
And leant against the stile;
"A merry heart goes all the day,"
Stoutly I sang the old refrain;
My own heart mocked me back again,
"Yet tire you in a mile!"

Well may I tire, that stand alone
And turn a wistful glance
On each remembered tree and stone,
Familiar landmarks of a road
Where once so light of heart I strode
With one who sleeps in France.

Heavily on the stile I lean,
Not as we leant of yore,
To drink the beauty of the scene,
Glory of green and blue and gold,
Shadow and gleam on wood and wold
That he will see no more.

Then came from somewhere far afield
A song