Two fellows who were messmates were scrapping about a question of gravy.
One wanted lots of gravy and his meat done brown. The other insisted on
having his meat decently cooked, but not swimming in grease. The man in
favor of gravy was on duty as cook at this meal and stuck to his own
ideas. They suddenly clinched, fell to the ground, rolled over, knocked
the pan in the fire and lost both meat and gravy.
John smiled and passed on.
A lieutenant was sitting on a stump holding a letter from his sweetheart
to the flickering camp fire. He bent and kissed the signature--the fool!
For a moment the old longing surged back through his soul. He wondered
if she ever thought of him now. She had loved him once.
He started back to his tent to write her a letter before they broke camp
to-morrow morning. Nature was calling in the balmy spring night wind
that floated over the waters of the river.
Nature knew naught of war. She was pouring out her heart in budding leaf
and blossom in the joy of living.
And then the bitterness of shame and stubborn pride welled up to kill
the tender impulse. There were slumbering forces beneath the skin the
scenes through which he was passing had called into new life. They were
bringing new powers both of mind and body. They added nothing to the
gentler, sweeter sources of character.
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