About the only ornament in his bare pine room in the hut was a
picture on the desk. I seized on it immediately, for next to a
sweet-faced baby about the finest thing on earth to look at is a boy
between five and twelve. And here were two, dressed in plaid suits,
with white collars, tousled hair, clean, fine American boys.
I exclaimed as I picked the picture up:
"What a fine pair of lads!"
Then I knew that I had, unwittingly, stumbled into his secret, for a
look of infinite pain swept over his face.
"They are both dead. Last August wife called me on the phone and said
that something awful had happened to the boys. They were all we had,
and I hurried home.
"They had gone out on a Boy Scout picnic. The older had gone in
swimming in the river and had gotten beyond his depth. The younger
went in after him and both were drowned."
"I'm sorry I brought it back," I said humbly.
He didn't notice what I said, but went on.
"Wife and I were broken-hearted. There didn't seem much to live for.
We had lost all. Then came this Y. M. C. A. work, and we thought that
we would like to come over here and do for all the boys in the army
what we could not do for our own. And now wife and I are here, and
every time I do something for a wounded boy in this hospital, I feel as
if I were serving my own dear lads.
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