"Posty" came at last, a few minutes late again, and Garth rapped imperiously with his cane, as "Posty," peering at the addresses of the letters, came up the steps. "See here," cried Garth, "let me see what you have!" "Posty" started nervously and the letters dropped from his hands. While he gathered them up, Garth in his most military manner delivered himself of a caustic rebuke:-- "You have left letters here which belong elsewhere, and I have lost letters through your carelessness. What is the matter with you anyway--can't you read?" he snapped. "Yes, sir," stammered "Posty," flushing as red as the band on his hat. "Well, then," went on the young officer, "why don't you use your eyes--where do you keep them anyway?" "Posty" stood at attention as he answered with measured deliberation:-- "I have one of them here ... but I left the other one at Saint-Eloi. Were you thinking of hunting it up for me, sir,--when--you--go--over?" * * * * * That was six weeks ago. Still the war goes on. Returned men walk our streets, new pale faces lie on hospital pillows, telegraph boys on wheels carry dread messages to the soldiers' homes. Garth has gone back to an Eastern city for another course (this time in signaling). He gave a whole set of buttons off his uniform to Mae before he went--and he had his photograph taken again! Even if he does not get over in time to do much in this war, it is worth something to have such a perfectly trained young officer ready for the next war! CHAPTER X NATIONAL SERVICE--ONE WAY There are some phrases in our conversations now that are used so often that they seem to be in some danger of losing their meaning. The snap goes out of them by too much handling, like an elastic band which has been stretched too far. One of these is "national service." If the work of the soldier, who leaves home, position, and safety behind him, and goes forth to meet hardship and danger, receiving as recompense one dollar and ten cents per day, is taken as the standard of comparison, the question of national service becomes very simple, indeed, for there is but one class, and no other that is even distantly related to it, but if national service is taken to mean the doing of something for our country's good which we would not feel it our duty to do but for the emergencies created by the war, then there are many ways in which the sincere citizen may serve. The Abilene Valley School was closed all last year, and weeds are growing in the garden in which the year before flowers and vegetables, scarlet runners and cabbages, poppies and carrots, had mingled in wild profusion. The art-muslin curtains are draggled and yellow, and some of the windows, by that strange fate which overtakes the windows in unoccupied houses, are broken.