“There’s a telegram here for you,” she said pleasantly. “It came last night and we tried to locate you at the camp but did not succeed. One of our girls went over to camp this afternoon, but they said you were gone on a furlough, so we hoped you would turn up.” She handed over the telegram and he took it in wonder. Who would send him a telegram? And here of all places! Why, how would anybody know he would be here? He was so excited his crutch trembled under his arm as he tore open the envelope and read: “Dear Billy (It was a regular letter!): “I am leaving to-night for New York. Will meet you at Salvation Hostel day after to-morrow morning. What is a foot more or less? Can’t I be hands and feet for you the rest of your life? I’m proud, proud, proud of you! Signed “Jean” He found great tears coming into his eyes and his throat was full of them, too. It didn’t matter if that Salvation Army lassie behind the counter did see them roll down his cheeks. He didn’t care. She would understand anyway, and he laughed out loud in his joy and relief, the first joy, the first relief since he was hurt! Some one else was coming in the door, another fellow maybe, but the lassie opened a door in the desk and drew him behind the counter in a shaded corner where no one would notice and brought him a cup of tea, which she said was all they had around to eat just then. She didn’t pay any attention to him till he got his equilibrium again. She was the kind of woman one feels is a natural-born mother. In fact, the fellows were always asking her wistfully: “May we call you Mother?” Young enough to understand and enter into their joys and sorrows, yet old enough to be wise and sweet and true. She mothered every boy that came. A sailor boy once asked if he might bring his girl to see her. He said he wanted her to see her so she could tell his mother about her. “But can’t you tell her about your girl?” she asked. “Oh, yes, but I want you to tell her.” he said. “You see, whatever you say mother’ll know is true.” So presently she turned to this lonely boy and took him upstairs through the pleasant upper room with its piano and games, its sun parlor over the street, lined with trailing ferns, with cheery canaries in swinging tasseled cages, who looked fully as happy and at home as did the soldier boys who were sitting about comfortably reading. She found him a room with only one other bunk in it. Nice white beds with springs like air and mattresses like down. She showed him where the shower-baths were, and with a kindly good-night left him. He almost wanted to ask her to kiss him good-night, so much like his own mother she seemed.