see how the boys
were getting along. He walked cautiously along the edge of the woods
when suddenly the word "Halt!" shot out in low but distinct tones.

"Who goes there?"

"A friend," the secretary replied.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Doc? Gee, I'm glad to see you! This is a darned
weird place to-night. Every time the wind blows I think it's a Boche."

There was a slight noise out in No Man's Land. "What's that, Doc, a
Boche?"

"I think not."

"You can't tell, Doc; they're everywhere. If I've seen one, I've seen
ten thousand to-night on this watch."

That old gray-haired secretary will never forget that night when he
walked among the men in the trenches with his little gifts and his word
of cheer, that memorable night before the Americans made themselves
heroes forever in the Bois du Belleau. He will never forget the sound
of that boy sentry's voice when he said, "Gee, Doc, I'm glad it's you";
nor will he forget the looks of the boy as he stood there in the
darkness, the guardian of America's hopes and homes, nor will he forget
the firm, warm clasp of the lad's hands as he walked away to greet
others of his comrades.

These are Soldier Silhouettes that remain vivid until time dies, until
the "springs of the seas run dust," as Markham says:

"Forget it not 'til the crowns are crumbled;
'Til the swords of the Kings are rent with rust;
Forget it not 'til the hills lie humbled;
And the springs of the seas run dust."

No, we do not forget scenes and moments like these in our lives.

Then there is the silhouette of the profile of the captain of a certain
American machine-gun company who, in March, marched with his men into
the Somme line. He was an old football-player back in the States, and
we were having a last dinner together in Paris, a group of college men.
After dinner, when we had finished discussing the dangers of the coming
weeks, and he had told us that his major had said to him, "If fifteen
per cent of us come out alive, I shall be glad," and after we had
drifted back to the old college days, and home and babies, and after he
had shown us a picture of his wife and his kiddies, it became strangely
quiet in the room, and suddenly he turned his face from us, with just
the profile showing against the light of the window, and exclaimed: "My
God, fellows, for a half-hour you have made me forget that there is a
war, and I have been back on the old campus again playing football, and
back wi