On the contrary. Sam’l had great ambitions for his “race,” as he loved to call them; yearned to lead it on to victory (against what enemy was not stated--presumably the Germans); treated his persecutors--for they amounted almost to that--with a magnanimity that was not without pathos. “It’s jus’ ign’ance,” he would apologize for them kindly. “They ack so mean an’ ornery an’ outrageous ’cause they got such woolly heads; that’s all!” Sam’l’s own hair happened by some odd freak to be quite straight and thick and silky, like coarse floss. “If he didn’t show off so much, I’d be downright sorry for him,” said Aunt Lady. “The boy’s lonesome for his kind; but--just listen to that!” (as a burst of song reached us from the pantry). “He can’t even sing like other people!” The pantry door having been thoughtfully propped open, we got full benefit in the parlour of a fine falsetto aria done after Caruso’s best manner, the impassioned tremolo, the husky little break at the climax, all complete. “Do you mean to say,” murmured my husband respectfully, “that the Infant Samuel is serenading us in Italian?” “Practically,” said the doctor. “As near as he can make it. He’s been that way ever since I made the mistake of bringing Lady home a phonograph from the city. She lends it to Sam’l to take to his room on holidays, and our housework is accomplished to the strains of _I Pagliacci_ and _Lucia_.” “Never mind, it won’t last long,” his wife soothed him. “Sam’l’s going off to be a hero soon.” It appeared that, although the draft had twice rejected him, once because of insufficient age and once because of defective vision, Sam’l had managed to overcome all difficulties and was shortly to report at training camp. I exclaimed with surprise, not able somehow to visualize the temperamental child of Mahaly as a warrior, and such a determined warrior. It did seem in his case peculiarly heroic, he was so inept and helpless-looking; so what the Negroes call “shackly” in the knees. “Humph!” remarked Aunt Lady to my praise of this patriotism. “Showing off, as usual. ‘I ack soldier moshuns, so I do.’ If Sam’l ever hears a cannon he’ll start for home like a gun-shy setter. A mere ocean won’t be able to stop him.” * * * * * It was a prophecy that came to pass, as many of Aunt Lady’s prophecies do. But in the meanwhile Sam’l got as far as France; supplied by me, because of auld lang syne, with the sort of comfort kit that would have pleased Mahaly. It included a Bible, perfumed soap, a box of chocolate, some very fancy notepaper, and a fountain pen; also a letter of sound advice, as I rather dreaded the effect of foreign travel upon so adaptable a temperament. His reply is one of my cherished possessions. He had been allotted to a labour battalion, diggers, road makers, and the like, of whom he wrote modestly: