M.
C. A. Then I have seen some huts up near the lines that were lighted
by old-fashioned oil-lamps. Then I have been in Y. M. C. A. dugouts
and cellars and holes in the ground, up so close to the German lines
that they were shelled every day, and these have been lighted by tallow
candles stuck in a bottle or in their own melted grease. I have seen
huts back of the lines away from danger of air-raids that could have
their windows wide open, and I have seen the light pouring in a flood
out of these windows, a constant invitation to thousands of American
boys. And again I have seen our huts in places so near the lines that
the secretaries had not only to use candles but to screen their windows
with a double layer of black cloth, so that not a single ray of that
tiny candle might throw its beams to the watching German on the hill
beyond. I never knew before what Shakespeare meant when he said: "How
far a tiny candle throws its beams." But whether it has been in the
more protected huts back of the lines or in the dangerous huts close to
the lines, the lights in the huts are usually the only lights available
for the boys, and to these lights they flock every night. It is a
Rembrandt picture that they make in the dim light of the candles
sitting around the tables writing letters by candle-light.
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