Part 2 (2/2)

”You've heard a good deal of the telephone wires,” he said as we sat at our ease, And talked of the struggle that's taking men's lives in these terrible days o'er the seas, ”But I've been through the thick of the thing and I know when a battle's begun, It isn't the phone you depend on for help. It's the legs of a boy who can run.

”It isn't because of the phone that I'm here.

To-day you are talking to me Because of the grit and the pluck of a boy. His t.i.tle was Runner McGee.

We were up to our dead line an' fighting alone; some plan had miscarried, I guess, And the help we were promised had failed to arrive. We were showing all signs of distress.

”Our curtain of fire was ahead of us still, an'

theirs was behind us an' thick, An' there wasn't a thing we could do for ourselves--the few of us left had to stick.

You haven't much chance to get central an' talk on the phone to the music of guns; Gettin' word to the chief is a matter right then that is up to the fellow who runs.

”I'd sent four of 'em back with the R. I. P.

sign, which means to return if you can, But none of 'em got through the curtain of fire; my hurry call died with the man.

Then Runner McGee said he'd try to get through.

I hated to order the kid On his mission of death; thought he'd never get by, but somehow or other he did.

”Yes, he's dead. Died an hour after bringing us word that the chief was aware of our plight, An' for us to hang on to the ditch that we held; the reserves would relieve us at night.

Then we stuck to our trench an' we stuck to our guns; you know how you'll fight when you know That new strength is coming to fill up the gaps.

There's heart in the force of your blow.

”It wasn't till later I got all the facts. They wanted McGee to remain.

They begged him to stay. He had cheated death once an' was foolish to try it again.

'R. I. P. are my orders,' he answered them all, 'an' back to the boys I must go; Four of us died comin' out with the news. It will help them to know that you know.'”

The Girl He Left Behind

We used to think her frivolous--you know how parents are, A little quick to see the faults and petty flaws that mar The girl their son is fond of and may choose to make his wife, A little overjealous of the one who'd share his life; But the girl he left behind him when he bravely marched away Has blossomed into beauty that we see and need to-day.

She was with us at the depot, and we turned our backs a-while, And her eyes were sad and misty, though she tried her best to smile.

Then she put her arm round mother, and it seemed to me as though They just grew to love each other, for they shared a common woe.

Now she often comes to see us, and it seems to me we find A heap of solid comfort in the girl he left behind.

”She's so sensible and gentle,” mother said last night to me, ”The kind of girl I've often wished and prayed his wife would be.

And I like to have her near us, for she understands my sighs And I see my brave boy smiling when I look into her eyes.”

Now the presence of his sweetheart seems to fill our home with joy.

She's no longer young and flighty--she's the girl who loves our boy.

<script>