DURING the Great War my sister was employed as nursery governess with a family living in M———. One of her duties was to meet the oldest child returning from school—and she was very frequently joined by her fiancé, whose regiment was stationed quite near. Eventually “Dick” was called to the front. Six months passed, and, one day, my sister came to see me, looking terribly distressed. She informed me that she knew “Dick” had been killed. I advised her to get a good nerve tonic, thinking she was overwrought through not having heard from him for two weeks. She proceeded to tell me that during her usual walk to the school “Dick” had walked with her all the way. However, little over a fortnight after this, my sister again came to see me. This time she handed me a letter she had just received from one of “Dick's” brother officers, stating that he had been killed. The date and hour given of “Dick's” death corresponded exactly with the day and hour that my sister declared he had walked with her. The Phantom Soldier WHILE my husband was serving in France during the Great War, I carried on our business as job master, and it often used to fall to my lot to drive the brave lads to and from the station. One lovely summer night I was driving a young lad to catch the midnight train which used to arrive at Waterloo about 4 a.m. He had come over from New Zealand when the call came (he emigrated a few years before the war) and he had just been home on leave to see his parents. I was driving an extremely quiet little pony in a governess car, and the young soldier and I were sitting opposite one another talking. I had just asked him if he intended settling down with his parents when the war was over or go back to New Zealand, and he replied he thought he would stay at home until his parents died. No sooner had he said this than the pony gave a most violent swerve, and, there, by the side of the soldier, outside the trap, was another soldier in the New Zealand uniform. The one I was driving shouted out: “That's a dirty trick to play, mate, the pony might have had us out. Do you want a lift to the station?” But the figure had vanished. A week later, the young fellow had paid the Great Sacrifice. Now, all three of us saw the figure, and I think the pony saw it first. When I got the pony to the station, he was trembling and sweating, yet I had not driven him hard. I often wondered if he saw more than the soldier and I saw. An Unknown Visitor