face down to theirs as in prayer;
Put His cheek to their cheeks; and so blessed them
With baby hands hid in His hair."

And I am certain that last of all I should have heard the voice of the
Master himself saying:

"Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of one of these little
ones, my children, ye have done it unto me."

Thank God for a death like that. One could envy such a passing, a
passing in the service to little children.

I have seen some of the most magnificent episodes of service on the
part of men in France, scenes that have thrilled me to the bone.

I know a Protestant clergyman in France who walked five miles on a
rainy February day to find a rosary for a dying Catholic boy.

I know a Y. M. C. A. secretary who in America is the general secretary
of one of the largest organizations in one of the largest Eastern
cities. He has always had two hobbies: one is seeing men made whole,
and the other has been fighting cigarettes. Never bigger fists or more
determined fists pounded down the walls that were building themselves
up around American youth in the cigarette industry. He was militant
from morning till night in his crusade against cigarettes. Some of his
friends thought he was a fanatic. He even lost friends because of his
uncompromising antagonism to the cigarette.

But the last time I heard of him he was in a front-line dugout. This
was near Chateau-Thierry. The boys were coming and going from that
awful fight. Men would come in one day and be dead the next. He had
been with them for months, and they had come to love him in spite of
his fighting their favorite pastime. They knew him for his
uncompromising antagonism to cigarettes. They loved him none the less
for that because he did not flinch. Neither was he narrow about
selling them. He sold them because it was his duty, but he hated them.

Then for three days in the midst of the Chateau-Thierry fighting the
matches played out. Not a match was to be had for three days. The
boys were frantic for their smokes, for the nervous strain was greater
than anything they had suffered in their lives. The shelling was
awful. The noise never ceased. Machine-gun fire and bombing by planes
at night kept up every hour. They saw lifelong friends fall by their
sides every hour of the day and night. They needed the solace of their
smokes.

Their secretary found two matches in his bag. He lit a cigarette for a
boy, and the match wa