t seven. I've got three more deliveries to make, and must take
him home and unharness him!"

"What time did you start out, child?"

"Why, four o'clock as usual, Madame. But I'm sure to be late this
morning."

I promised that as I was passing by the school I would step in and tell
Madame Dumont, the head mistress, the reason of her tardiness. She
felt much better after that, and presently our combined efforts got
Jupiter to move.

True to my word I sought out Madame Dumont, and found the good woman
already extremely busy at this early hour.

A peasant mother and her three children all arrayed in their Sunday
best, were grouped together at one end of the garden, smiling blandly
into the lens of a camera which the school mistress set up and prepared
to operate.

"There--that's it--smile! Click! It's all over. Now then, Magloire,
climb up on a chair. Hold yourself quite straight, dear, so your papa
will see how much you've grown."

Magloire was photographed with her nose in the air, her mouth wide
open, her other features registering the most complete lunacy. Joseph,
her brother, at whom they fairly shrieked in order to make him smile,
produced the most singular contortion of the mouth that I have ever
seen, which denoted an extreme gift for mimicry, rare in so young a
child.

Little Marie was taken on her mother's lap, and I thought of the
ecstasy of the brave fellow to whom one day the postman would bring the
envelope containing the glorious proofs. With what pride he will show
them to his companions, how he will gloat over his Magloire and his
Joseph, his petite Marie and his _bonne femme_. Then, drawing away
from the others, he will study them again, each one in turn. Nights
when on duty, those cold nights of vigil, way out there in Saloniki,
when fatigue and homesickness will assail him, he will slip his hand
down into his pocket, and his rough fingers will touch the grease
stained envelope that contains the cherished faces of his dear ones.

It all recalled other powder-blackened hands clenched forever about
soiled remnants of envelopes, from which protruded the edge of a
precious photograph. A shiver ran down my spine as the brave mother
and her three little ones passed by me on their way to change their
clothes--assume their humble dress.

"_Merci, Madame Dumont. Merci bien._"

"At your service, Madame Lecourt." And Madame Dumont turned to examine
her mail. Rather voluminous in size, bu