ry of a puling child! And
to-morrow? God may speak again, and then Kaiserism will fall with all
its pomp and vanity.

'Of course I am but a poor ignorant soldier, and my word cannot count for
much; but I have a feeling that before many years are over,--perhaps it
may be only a matter of months--the Kaiser will either die by his own
hand, or else God, through the millions of bereaved and heart-broken
people, will hurl him from his throne.

'What is the power of autocratic kings? Only the moaning of night winds.
Yesterday it was not, and tomorrow it will not be. But God lives through
His people, and that people is slowly moving on to liberty and power.
That is why I believe the end of war is drawing near. It is never the
_people_ who long for war; it is the kings, the potentates who are ever
guilty of making it. Thus when they cease to rule, war will cease, and
there will be peace and brotherhood.

'Anyhow, President Wilson has spoken, and he has expressed the highest
feelings of the American nation, and although the end of this war may not
come as we expect, it will come in the overthrow of Junkerdom and
military supremacy.'

After this I did not hear from Edgecumbe for some time, and I began to
grow anxious at his long continued silence, then when June of this year
arrived, an event took place which overcame me with astonishment.

I had had a hard day at the training camp, and was sitting outside the
mess tent, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and heard a cheery voice
close by me.

'Hulloa, Luscombe, why that pensive brow?'

I looked up and saw my friend standing by me, with his left arm in a
sling, looking pale and somewhat haggard, but with a bright light in his
eyes.

'Edgecumbe!' I cried. 'Ay, but I am glad to see you! Where did you
spring from, and what have you been doing?'

'That's what I've come to tell you,' he said quietly.

CHAPTER XXXI

EDGECUMBE'S RETURN

'You are wounded,' I stammered, scarcely knowing what I was saying.
His appearance was so sudden, and unexpected, that I could scarcely
believe that it was really he who stood there before me. 'It's not bad
I hope?'

'No, not bad. Not enough to make a fuss about;--it might have been,
though'; and I noticed that his voice became grave.

'How? What do you mean?'

'I'll tell you some day--soon perhaps. Are you busy?'

'No, my work is over for the day. I _am_ glad to see you, old man.
Are you home for long?'

'Yes