"But you are _not_ such a handsome boy as when you went away." Then she broke down and bent her face over mine. That was my home-coming. I had looked forward to it and it had given me all the happiness I could wish for. (The Danish soldier boy tells the tragic story of the "folk back home;" how mothers, and wives and children are "waiting" for their loved ones. His whole story is one of the most pathetic and loving tales of the broken hearts of the war.) FOOTNOTES: [6] All numerals relate to stories herein told--not to chapters in the original sources. "ADVENTURES OF A DESPATCH RIDER" _An Oxford Man With the Motorcyclists_ _Told by Capt. W. H. L. Watson_ This young Oxford student at the outbreak of the War was in London to begin his work in the British Museum. "At 6:45 P.M., on Saturday, July 25th, 1914, Alec and I determined to take part in the Austro-Serbian War. I remember the exact minute," he says. They were certain Armageddon was coming. He went straight to Scotland Yard and joined the Despatch Riders with several of his fellow students. He then began his daring adventures carrying despatches for the British Army in Northern France. He rode through the battle of Mons and in the thrilling pursuit that lead to the Aisne. His experiences teem with exciting incidents of those never-to-be-forgotten days. The thrill of the charge, the depression of retreat, the elation of outwitting a clever enemy and all the little incidents of heroism, self-sacrifice and comradeship that have become commonplaces in the daily lives of the British Tommies, are most interestingly described in this Oxford man's account of "Adventures of a Despatch Rider" by permission of his publishers, _Dodd, Mead and Company_. [7] I--STORIES OF THE SIGNAL OFFICE IN NORTHERN FRANCE It had been a melancholy day, full of rain and doubting news. Those of us who were not "out" were strolling up and down the platform arranging the order of cakes from home and trying to gather from the sound of the gunning and intermittent visits to the Signal Office what was happening. Some one had been told that the old 15th was being hard pressed. Each of us regretted loudly that we had not been attached to it, though our hearts spoke differently. Despatch riders have muddled thoughts. There is a longing for the excitement of danger and a very earnest desire to keep away from it. The C.O. walked on to the platform hurriedly, and in a minute or two I was off. It was lucky that the road was covered with unholy grease, that the light was bad and there was transport on the road--for it is not good for a despatch rider to think too much of what is before him. My instructions were to report to the general and make myself useful. I was also cheerfully informed that the H.Q. of the 15th were under a robust shell-fire. Little parties of sad-looking wounded that I passed, the noise of the guns, and the evil dusk heartened me.