“Oh, boys,” Mary was close to tears, “I’m a flier, not a chaplain. All I can say is that I shall always remember this as the happiest moment of my life.
“One thing more before I leave. I’d like your names and addresses. If I’m lucky enough to get back to good, old U. S. A., I’ll write to your mothers, every one of them and tell them that I saw you.”
“Oh!” exclaimed a very young boy close beside her, “that—that will be swell!”
“I’ll Write to Your Mothers,” She Promised
With aching heart but smiling face Mary went from cot to cot collecting addresses and personal messages of the sick men.
Then Scottie came in. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “The rain has stopped. There’s just time for a bit of chow with the other boys here, then we’ll have to hop into the sky. Don’t forget that Sparky’s waiting.”
“Of course,” she exclaimed. “We must get going.”