“Oh, but that’s nothing!” she said, and somehow her voice put new heart into him. “Your folks will be so glad to have you home you’ll forget all about it. Come, aren’t you going to send them a telegram?” And she held out the yellow blank.
But still he hesitated.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking down at his foot again. “Mother’s gone, and——”
Instantly her quick sympathy enveloped his sore soul, and he felt that just the inflection of her voice was like balm when she said: “I’m so sorry!” Then she added:
“But isn’t there somebody else? I’m sure there was. I’m sure you told me about a girl I was to write to if you didn’t come through. Aren’t you going to let her know? Of course you are.”
“I don’t know,” said the boy. “I don’t think I am. Maybe I’ll never go back now. You see, I’m not what I was when I went away.”
“Nonsense!” said the lassie with that cheerful assurance that had carried her through shell fire and made her merit the pet name of “Sunshine” that the boys had given her in the trenches. “Why, that wouldn’t be fair to her. Of course, you’re going to let her know right away. Leave it to me. Here, give me her address!”
Quick as a flash she had the address and was off to a telephone booth. This was no message that could wait to go back to headquarters. It must go at once.
He saw her again before he left the wharf. She gave him a card with two addresses written on it:
“This first is where you can drop in and rest when you are tired,” she explained. “It’s just one of our huts; the other is where you can find a good bed when you are in the city.”