“Would I?” the soldier gasped incredulously. “Would I? Say, friend, what’s the use of hitting a fellow when he’s down and out?” “You’re not down and out,” was the cheery answer. “Not by a damned sight! If you want to be an architect, Uncle Sam is ready to give you a chance. He will give you an education, and pay you while you are getting it, and then he will get you a job. Don’t get the idea into your head that he has forgotten what he owes you boys who have fought for him.” The last time I saw that soldier he had already commenced his architectural education. “If he keeps on as well as he has begun,” one of his instructors told me, “he will make several times as much money without any legs as he did with them.” The educational work starts at the bedside as soon as the patient feels the need of some activity or diversion. Each patient is treated as an individual, an educational activity being selected for him which will have the greatest curative effect and will at the same time present the greatest interest and incentive because of the future usefulness which it holds out to him. Simple crafts, light, desultory, and diverting, gradually give place to more exacting, more purposeful studies and occupations. For one man the series may be bead-work, mechanical drafting, wood-shop, carpentry; for another, knitting, basketry, penmanship, and accounting; for the illiterate it may be some textile project followed by instruction in reading and writing. Since the work began, 75,000 men have been enrolled in some form of educational work in fifty hospitals. Many have regained control of palsied muscles, limbered up stiffened joints, revived dulled mental sensibilities, steadied shaken nerves, or obtained improved physical tone by the application of these methods. To thousands the educational service has brought the discovery that, in spite of the handicap of their disabilities, they possess unsuspected ability in certain lines of useful and profitable endeavor, thus substituting hope for despair and showing them the way to a useful and contented future. M—— was illiterate; in fact, he could not sign the pay-roll or read the simplest orders; he was bedridden with wounds in his shoulder and arm. He came from a remote mountain community, where the need of even a rudimentary knowledge of the three R’s was not deemed necessary. For thirty minutes a day for six weeks he studied reading, writing, and arithmetic. When he was ready for discharge from hospital he was able to write short letters, though he found spelling puzzling. In reading he made unusual progress, though his oral inflection left something to be desired. His greatest pleasure was to receive a letter from his brother, who had had five years’ schooling but could not write as well as M—— himself, or to write to his mother instead of being compelled to ask the other boys to write his letters for him.