nd muddy, the boys partook of it eagerly. It was
at least hot and sweet.

Velo gritted his teeth with exasperation as Zaidos strolled out and at
once spoke to a soldier who sat by the door with a couple of letters
and papers in his lap. It was so exactly like Zaidos to get acquainted
without a moment's delay. He smiled at the soldier, and in reply the
young fellow made a place for him on the bench.

"Sit down, won't you?" he said. "Mail has come, and I got more than my
share."

"Glad you fared well," said Zaidos, taking the offered seat. "I see
you have a paper. May I look at it?"

"Certainly!" said the soldier. "There is nothing in it. The war news
is so censored over home now that you can't get anything much out of
the papers. I like 'em because I can read the home advertisements, and
see notices of people I know, and watch what's playing at the theatres.
Makes me forget this rotten hole for awhile."

"That's so," agreed Zaidos. "But just think how crazy all the people
at home must be all the while to hear from you fellows at the front."

"I think they are," agreed the soldier. "I have a brother in France,
too, and father has just sent me a letter from him. It's fun to
compare experiences. Want to read it? You may if you care to."

"Of course I'd like to!" said Zaidos with his ready friendliness.
"There is no one to write to me anywhere except some schoolmates over
in America, and I don't suppose I will hear from them for months." He
took the closely written sheets of thin paper, and read the letter,
appreciating the spirit in which it was offered him.

"My dear Father," it ran. "I received your letter and note last night,
and Auntie's parcel the night before. Thank you both very much for
same. It is good of you to us both, but do not spend too much money.
Hard times are coming on, I imagine. The kippers were grand. Six of
us had a great tea on them in the wine cellar of a shattered farm-house
where we are for four nights after four days in the trenches. Then we
go back to the fighting line for another four days and nights. This
place we are at, in the cellar, is a keep with emergency stores and
loop holes, and is armored. Twenty-five of us have to keep it at all
costs, should the enemy come over the line, which is perhaps four
hundred yards away. The bally place is overrun with rats. They run
all over your body and head at night, and I have to sleep with my
overcoat tucked over my he