go to the wars--'"

She was very busy every morning in Emily's room, working on the
surgical dressings. She hated it all. She hated the oakum and the
gauze, the cotton and the compresses, the pneumonia jackets and the
split-irrigation pads, the wipes, the triangulars, the many-tailed and
the scultetus. Other women might speak lightly of five-yard rolls as
dressing for stumps, of paper-backs "used in the treatment of large
suppurating wounds." Jean shivered and turned white at these things.
Her vivid imagination went beyond the little work-room with its
white-veiled women to those hospitals back of the battle line where
mutilated men lay waiting for the compresses and the wipes and the
bandages, men in awful agony--.

But the lesson she was learning was that of harnessing her emotions to
the day's work; and if her world was no longer wonderful in a care-free
sense, it was a rather splendid world of unselfishness and
self-sacrifice, although she was not conscious of this, but felt it
vaguely.

She wore now, most of the time, her nun's frock of gray, which had
seemed to foreshadow something of her future on that glorified day when
Derry had first come to her. She had laid away many of her lovely
things, and one morning Teddy remarked on the change.

"You don't dwess up any more."

Nurse stood back of his chair. "Dress--"

"Dur-wess."

"Don't you like this dress, Teddy?"

"I liked the boo one."

"Blue--"

"Ble-yew, an' the pink one, and all the shiny ones you used to wear at
night."

"Blue dresses and pink dresses and shiny dresses cost a lot of money,
Teddy, and I shouldn't have any money left for Thrift Stamps."

Thrift stamps were a language understood by Teddy, as he would not have
understood the larger transactions of Liberty Bonds. He and the
General held long conversations as to the best means of obtaining a
large supply of stamps, and the General having listened to Margaret who
wanted the boy to work for his offering, suggested an entrancing plan.
Teddy was to feed the fishes in the dining-room aquarium, he was to
feed Muffin, and he was to feed Polly Ann.

It sounded simple, but there were difficulties. In the first place he
had to face Cook, and Cook hated to have children in the kitchen.

"But you'd have to face more than that if you were grown up and in the
trenches. And Hodgson is really very kind."

"Well, she doesn't look kind, Mother."

"Why not?"

"Well, she doesn't smile,