"Calliope," said one of the women, "we've been thinking. Don't it seem awful pitiful that Europe can't know how we feel here to-day?" "I thought of that," I said. And Luke says: "Well, we've been looking up the cable charges. And we thought we might manage it, to cable something like this: "Friendship Village memorial exercises held to-day for Europe's dead. Love and sympathy from our village." "It'll cost a lot," says Luke. "The McVicars want us to add the money to their relief fund instead. But I say _no_!" he struck the porch post with his palm. "Leave us send it, cost or no cost, no matter what." "I say so too," I says. "But tell me: Where'll you send it to?" And Luke says simple: "None of the newspaper dispatch folks'll take it--it ain't news enough for them. So I'm a-going to cable it myself, prepaid, to six Europe newspapers." Pretty soon they went away, and I took Bennie and walked down to the gate. I thought about that message, going on the wire to Europe.... There wasn't any moon, or any sound. The town lay still, as if it was thinking. The world lay still, as if it was feeling. FOOTNOTE: [10] Copyright, 1916, _Collier's Weekly_, as "Over There." WHEN THE HERO CAME HOME[11] Never, not if I live till after my dying day, will I forget the evening that Jeffro got home from the War. It was one of the times when what you thought was the earth under your feet dissolves away, and nothing is left there but a little bit of dirt, with miles of space just on the under side of it. It was one of the times when what you thought was the sky over your head is drawn away like a cloth, and nothing is there but miles of space on the upper side of it. And in between the two great spaces are us little humans, creeping 'round, wondering what we're for. And not doing one-ninth as much wondering as you'd think we would.