oks.

At length Annette's story was brought to light, and Jeanne could but
thank them for their trouble, at the same time explaining that neither
she nor her husband had ever had brothers, and that their parents had
been dead these many years.

"You naughty, wicked girl!" scolded Jeanne, as her tearful progeny was
led forward. "You wicked, wicked girl--what made you tell such lies?"

The culprit twisted her hands; her whole body fairly convulsed with
restrained sobs.

"Answer me at once! Do you hear me?"

Annette hesitated, and then throwing herself in her mother's arms,
blurted out, "Oh, mamma, I just couldn't help it! All the others were
so proud of their _poilus_, and I haven't any one at the front; not
even a god-son!"

It seems highly probable that children who have received such an
education will ultimately form a special generation. Poor little
things who never knew what "play" meant, at a time when life should
have been all sunshine and smiles; tender, sensitive creatures brought
up in an atmosphere of privation and tears.

Those who were between ten and fifteen years of age at the outbreak of
the war have had a particularly hard time.

In the smaller trades and industries, as well as on the farms, with a
father or an elder brother absent, these youngsters have been obliged
to leave school or college, and hasten to the counter or the plough.
And not only have they been called upon to furnish the helping hand,
but in times of moral stress they have often had to give proof of a
mature judgment, a courage, a will power, and a forebearance far beyond
their years.

After a ten months' absence, when I opened up my Parisian home, I found
it necessary to change or replace certain electric lighting
arrangements. As usual I called up the Maison Bincteux.

"_Bien, Madame_, I shall send some one to look after it."

The next morning my maid announced _La Maison Bincteux_.

When I reached the hallway, I found the aforesaid _Maison_ to be a lad
some fifteen years old, who might easily have passed for twelve, so
slight was his build. His long, pale, oval face, which seemed almost
unhealthy, was relieved by a pair of snapping blue eyes.

"Did you bring a letter?"

"Oh, no, Madame, I am Monsieur Bincteux's son."

"Then your father is coming later?"

"Oh, no, Madame, he can't, he is mechanician in the aviation corps at
Verdun. My oldest brother is in the artillery, and the second one has
just left for t