“Come, now, be good, little stray _sauterelle_, For we’re going by-by to thy papa Michel, But I’ll not say where for fear thou wilt tell, Little pigeon of France! “Six days’ leave and a year between! But what would you have? In six days clean, Heaven was made,” said Franceline, “Heaven and France.” She came to the town of the nameless name, To the marching troops in the street she came, And she held high her boy like a taper flame Burning for France. Fresh from the trenches and gray with grime, Silent they march like a pantomime; “But what need of music? My heart beats time-- Vive la France!” His regiment comes. Oh, then where is he? “There is dust in my eyes, for I cannot see,-- Is that my Michel to the right of thee, Soldier of France?” Then out of the ranks a comrade fell-- “Yesterday--’twas a splinter of shell-- And he whispered thy name, did poor Michel, Dying for France.” The tread of the troops on the pavement throbbed Like a woman’s heart of its last joy robbed, As she lifted her boy to the flag, and sobbed “Vive la France!” THE WOES OF A ROOKIE WILLIAM L. COLESTOCK I enlisted in the infantry last summer; I was greeted at the training camp with joy; I had hardly gotten settled, when a sergeant Told me I was now the Company’s errand boy. Now, I knew I’d have to start in at the bottom, And acquire my army training bit by bit; But to be assigned to duties quite so humble, Was humiliating, surely you’ll admit. My first errand was a trip to Field Headquarters. It was raining and the mud was deep and thick. I was ordered to seek out the Major General, And procure a requisition for a brick. ’Twas explained to me, before I left my Company, That our Captain suffered much with chilly feet, And that bricks, when rightly heated, would correct this. What that Major General said, I’ll not repeat. To our surly Regimental Quartermaster, I was sent to get the Company’s Sunday hats, And my Sergeant said, “to save myself some walking,” I could “also get the First Lieutenant’s spats”; When I told that sour Quartermaster’s seageant What it was I’d like to have for Company A, Gosh, he “bawled me out,” said “Your ears should be longer, And your rations should be changed from beans to hay.” For a thousand feet of skirmish line I hunted For a half a day, before I saw the joke; Next they sent me for a left-hand canvas stretcher, To repair the Mess-hall windows, which were broke. As the Company Street was slightly rough and bumpy, They dispatched me for a double-jointed plow; And one breakfast-time they sent me to the Colonel, With a pail, to milk the Regimental cow.