Now and then, of course, there was a thick-headed one who took some minutes to recognize holiness. Such would enter a hut with an oath upon his lips, or an unclean story, and straightway all the men who were sitting at the tables writing or standing about the room would come to attention with one of those little noisy silences that mean, so much; pencils would click down on the table like a challenge, and the newcomer would look up to find the cold glances of his fellows upon him. The boys who frequented the huts broke the habit of swearing and telling unclean stories, and officers began to realize that their men were better in their work because of this holy influence that was being thrown about them. One officer said his men worked better, and kept their engines oiled up so they wouldn’t be delayed on the road, that they might get back to the hut early in the evening. The picture of a girl stirring chocolate kept the light of hope going in the heart of many a homesick lad. One ignorant and exceedingly “fresh” youth, once walked boldly into a hut, it is said, and jauntily addressed the lassie behind the counter as “Dearie.” The sweet blue eyes of the lassie grew suddenly cold with aloofness, and she looked up at the newcomer without her usual smile, saying distinctly: _“What did you say?_” The soldier stared, and grew red and unhappy: “Oh! I beg your pardon!” he said, and got himself out of the way as soon as possible. These lassies needed no chaperon. They were young saints to the boys they served, and they had a cordon of ten thousand faithful soldiers drawn about them night and day. As a military Colonel said, the Salvation Army lassie was the only woman in France who was safe unchaperoned. When this lassie from Indiana came back on a short furlough after fifteen months in France with the troops, and went to her home for a brief visit, the Mayor gave the home town a holiday, had out the band and waited at the depot in his own limousine for four hours that he might not miss greeting her and doing her honor. Here is the poem which Pte. Joseph T. Lopes wrote about “Those Salvation Army Folks” after the Montdidier attack: Somewhere in France, not far from the foe, There’s a body of workers whose name we all know; Who not only at home give their lives to make right, But are now here beside us, fighting our fight. What care they for rest when our boys at the front, Who, fighting for freedom, are bearing the brunt, And so, just at dawn, when the caissons come home, With the boys tired out and chilled to the bone, The Salvation Army with its brave little crew, Are waiting with doughnuts and hot coffee, too. When dangers and toiling are o’er for awhile, In their dugouts we find comfort and welcome their smile. There’s a spirit of home, so we go there each night, And the thinking of home makes us sit down and write, So we tell of these folks to our loved ones with pride, And are thanking the Lord to have them on our side.