"I did it for you, dear," she answered. "No, not only for me, but for the women and children; you thought of them?" "Oh, yes; but I thought more of you than of the others, all the time. I knew you'd save me, Hugh. I was sure you would not let them take me. 'Twas your rifle----" "Nay, dearest, 'twas your shoe." He took it fondly from his coat and kissed it. "This little shoe that turned you aside and gave me an opening. God forbid I should ever have to do such shooting again, dearest." "Amen, Hugh, and yet He guided the bullets, I think." "Yes, truly. And I never dreamed that you were such a heroine, Elizabeth. Where did you learn it? Not in Philadelphia, I am sure." "No, Hugh, there is but one school in which they teach those things." "And that is the school of----" "Love," she whispered, hiding her head in his breast. "SONNY BOY'S" DIARY AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR IN CHINA "Oh, a strange hand writes for our dear son--O stricken mother's soul! All swims before her eyes--flashes with black--she catches the main words only; Sentences broken--'gun-shot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital; At present low, but will soon be better.'" WALT WHITMAN Among the most devoted of my parishioners was a certain Mrs. Allen,--devoted to the Church, of course, that is; although, if I may judge from her actions, I think she held me personally in high esteem as well. When I became acquainted with her she was a widow with one son. Other children, girls, had been born to her I learned afterward, but she had lost them in their early childhood; and, after the death of her husband, who had been a major in the marine corps of the United States navy, her life had been entirely devoted to this son, in whom her heart was so wrapped up that she fairly worshipped him. She was a gentle, quiet, retiring little woman, sad-faced and inclined to melancholy when George, her son, was not with her. He was a hearty, healthy lad, abounding in strength and spirits, full of fun and mischief, but never vicious, and he certainly adored her with a genuine enthusiasm. His mother seemed actually to bask in the sunshine of his presence, and when they were together she was a different woman. When I first knew them the boy had just been given an appointment at Annapolis; and though he graduated at the head of his class and should naturally have gone into the line of the navy, he had followed the family tradition by electing to serve in the marine corps, as his father and grandfather before him had done. He had risen to the grade of first lieutenant, and was one of the officers of the little band of United States marines who formed the Legation guard in Pekin during the terrible summer of 1900. I well remember the fearful anxiety and yet the superhuman resolution with which Mrs. Allen confronted those days of silence and suspense.