The Literary World Seventh Reader Part 43

Peddle, gray, bent, uncomprehending, regarded him blankly.

"All what, sir?"

"I only want to wash my hands," said Doggie.

"But aren't you going to dress for dinner, sir?"

"A private soldier's not allowed to wear [v]mufti," returned Doggie.

"Who's to find out?"

"There's Mr. Oliver; he's a major."

"Ah, Mr. Marmaduke, he wouldn't mind. Miss Peggy gave me my orders, sir, and I think you can leave things to her."

"All right, Peddle," laughed Doggie. "If it's Miss Peggy's decree, I'll change my clothes. I have all I want."

"Are you sure you can manage, sir?" Peddle asked anxiously, for the time was when Doggie could not stick his legs into his trousers unless Peddle helped him.

"Quite," said Doggie.

"It seems rather roughing it, here at the Deanery, Mr. Marmaduke, after what you've been accustomed to at the Hall," said Peddle.

"That's so," replied Doggie. "And it's martyrdom compared to what it is in the trenches. There we always have a major-general to lace our boots and a field-marshall to hand us coffee."

Peddle looked blank, being utterly unable to comprehend the nature of a joke.

A little later, when Doggie went downstairs to dinner, he found Peggy alone in the drawing-room.

"Now you look more like a Christian gentleman," she said. "Confess: it's much more comfortable than your wretched private's uniform."

"I'm not quite so sure," he replied, somewhat ruefully, indicating his dinner jacket, which was tightly constricted beneath the arms. "Already I've had to slit my waistcoat down the back. Poor old Peddle will have a fit when he sees it. I've grown a bit since these elegant rags were made for me."

Oliver came in--in khaki. Doggie jumped up and pointed to him.

"Look here, Peggy," he said; "I'll be sent to the guard-room."

Oliver laughed. "I did change my uniform," he said. "I don't know where my dinner clothes are."

"That's the best thing about being a major," spoke up Doggie. "They have heaps of suits. Poor Tommy has but one suit to his name."

Then the Dean and his wife entered, and they went in to dinner. It was for Doggie the most pleasant of meals. He had the superbly healthy man's whole-hearted appreciation for unaccustomed good food. There were other and finer pleasures--the table with its exquisite [v]napery and china and gla.s.s and silver and flowers. There was the delightful atmosphere of peace and gentle living. And there was Oliver--a new Oliver.

Most of all, Doggie appreciated Oliver's comrade-like att.i.tude. It was a recognition of him as a soldier. He had "made good" in the eyes of one of the finest soldiers in the British army, and what else mattered? To Doggie the supreme joy of that pleasurable evening was the knowledge that he had done well in the eyes of Oliver. The latter wore on his tunic the white, mauve, and white ribbon of the Military Cross. Honor where honor was due. But he--Doggie--had been wounded, and Oliver frankly put them both on the same plane of achievement, thus wiping away with generous hand all the hated memories of the past.

When the ladies left the room the Dean went with them, and the cousins were left alone.

"And now," said Oliver, "don't you think you're a bit of a fool, Doggie?"

"I know it," Doggie returned cheerfully. "The army has drummed that into me at any rate."

"I mean in staying in the ranks," Oliver went on. "Why don't you apply for the Cadet Corps and get a commission again?"

Doggie's brow grew dark. "I will tell you," he replied. "The only real happiness I've had in my life has been as a Tommy. I'm not talking foolishness. The only real friends I've ever made in my life are Tommies. I've a real life as a Tommy, and I'm satisfied. When I came to my senses after being thrown out for incompetence and I enlisted, I made a vow that I would stick it out as a Tommy without anybody's sympathy, least of all that of the people here. And as a Tommy I am a real soldier and do my part."

Oliver smiled. "I'm glad you told me, old man. I appreciate it very much. I've been through the ranks myself and know what it is--the bad and the good. Many a man has found his soul that way--"

"Heavens!" cried Doggie, starting to his feet. "Do you say that, too?"

The cousins clasped hands. That was Oliver's final recognition of Doggie as a soldier and a man. Doggie had found his soul.

W. J. LOCKE.

IN FLANDERS FIELD

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our places. In the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!

To you, from failing hands, we throw The torch. Be yours to lift it high!

If ye break faith with us who die, We shall not sleep, though poppies blow In Flanders fields.

JOHN MCCRAE.

IN FLANDERS FIELD

(AN ANSWER)

In Flanders fields, the cannon boom And fitful flashes light the gloom, While up above, like eagles, fly The fierce destroyers of the sky; With stains the earth wherein you lie Is redder than the poppy bloom, In Flanders fields.

Sleep on, ye brave. The shrieking sh.e.l.l, The quaking trench, the startled yell, The fury of the battle h.e.l.l Shall wake you not, for all is well.

Sleep peacefully, for all is well.

Your flaming torch aloft we bear, With burning heart an oath we swear To keep the faith, to fight it through, To crush the foe or sleep with you In Flanders fields.

C. B. GALBRAITH.

A BALLAD OF HEROES