have a few moments of consciousness just at
the last, if you want to stay."

"I'll go down and give my private patient his egg, and then I'll
come back." Claude went away and returned, and sat dozing by the
bed. After three o'clock the noise of struggle ceased; instantly
the huge figure on the bed became again his good-natured
corporal. The mouth closed, the glassy jellies were once more
seeing, intelligent human eyes. The face lost its swollen,
brutish look and was again the face of a friend. It was almost
unbelievable that anything so far gone could come back. He looked
up wistfully at his Lieutenant as if to ask him something. His
eyes filled with tears, and he turned his head away a little.

"Mein' arme Mutter!" he whispered distinctly.

A few moments later he died in perfect dignity, not struggling
under torture, but consciously, it seemed to Claude,--like a
brave boy giving back what was not his to keep.

Claude returned to his cabin, roused Fanning once more, and then
threw himself upon his tipping bunk. The boat seemed to wallow
and sprawl in the waves, as he had seen animals do on the farm
when they gave birth to young. How helpless the old vessel was
out here in the pounding seas, and how much misery she carried!
He lay looking up at the rusty water pipes and unpainted
joinings. This liner was in truth the "Old Anchises"; even the
carpenters who made her over for the service had not thought her
worth the trouble, and had done their worst by her. The new
partitions were hung to the joists by a few nails.

Big Tannhauser had been one of those who were most anxious to
sail. He used to grin and say, "France is the only climate that's
healthy for a man with a name like mine." He had waved his
good-bye to the image in the New York harbour with the rest,
believed in her like the rest. He only wanted to serve. It seemed
hard.

When Tannhauser first came to camp he was confused all the time,
and couldn't remember instructions. Claude had once stepped him
out in front of the line and reprimanded him for not knowing his
right side from his left. When he looked into the case, he found
that the fellow was not eating anything, that he was ill from
homesickness. He was one of those farmer boys who are afraid of
town. The giant baby of a long family, he had never slept away
from home a night in his life before he enlisted.

Corporal Tannhauser, along with four others, was buried at
sunrise. No band this time; the c