Shakespere and Isaiah rolled together, might fittingly answer the honor
which they, with four million more American soldiers, have brought to
their own. So that the stories march out very proudly, headed by the
names of

CHAPLAIN HERBERT SHIPMAN

AND

CAPTAIN PAUL SHIPMAN ANDREWS




NOTE


Now that the tide of Khaki has set toward our shores instead of away;
now that the streets are filled with splendid boys with gold chevrons of
foreign service or no less honorable silver chevrons of service here;
now that the dear lads who sleep in France know that the "torch was
caught" from their hands, and that faith with them was kept; now
that--thank God, who, after all, rules--the war is over, there is an old
word close to the thought of the nation. "Heaviness may endure for a
night, but joy cometh in the morning." A whole country is so thinking.
For possibly ten centuries the Great War will be a background for
fiction. To us, who have lived those years, any tale of them is a
personal affair. Every-day women and men whom one meets in the street
may well say to us: "My boy was in the Argonne," or: "My brother fought
at St. Mihiel." Over and over, unphrased, our minds echo lines of that