his being sent to Egypt. "Why are you so anxious to go to Egypt?" "Because
it was there the Holy Family rested," said the lad shyly. The lady to whom
he spoke described to him the tree and the Holy Well in St. Georgius, and
he listened entranced.

Sometimes a rough lot fill the canteen, drawn from the poorest class,
perhaps, of an English seaport. They hustle for their food, shout at the
helpers, and seem to have no notion that such words as "please" and "thank
you" exist. After three or four hours of battling with such an apparently
mannerless crew one of the helpers saw them depart to the platform where
their train was waiting for them, with very natural relief. But they were
no sooner gone, when a guardsman, with the manners, the stature, and the
smartness of his kind, came back to the counter, and asked to speak to
the lady in charge of it. "Those chaps, Miss, what have just gone out," he
said apologetically, "have never been used to ladies, and they don't know
what to say to them. So they asked me just to come in and say for them
they were very much obliged for all the ladies' kindness, but they
couldn't say it themselves." The tired helper was suddenly too choky to
answer. The message, the choice of the messenger, as one sure to do "the
right thing," were both so touching.

But there was a sudden movement in the crowd. The train was up. We all
surged out upon the platform, and I watched the embarkation--the endless
train engulfing its hundreds of men. Just as I had seen the food and
equipment trains going up from the first base laden with everything
necessary to replace the daily waste of the army, so here was the train of
human material, going up to replace the daily waste of _men_. After many
hours of travelling, and perhaps some of rest, these young soldiers--how
young most of them were!--would find themselves face to face with the
sharpest realities of war. I thought of what I had seen in the Red Cross