forty; he had sold out everything, sent his wife to England, and had
come to enlist with the local regiment. Evidently his speech about
what we owe to the Old Flag had been a piece of real eloquence, and
Bill himself was the proof.

He enlisted with the boys from home as a private, and on the marches
he towered above them--the tallest man in the regiment. No man was
more obedient or trustworthy. He cheered and admonished the younger
men, when long marches in the hot sun, with heavy accouterments, made
them quarrelsome and full of complaints. "It's all for the Old Flag,
boys," he told them.

To-day I read that he is "missing, believed killed"; and I have the
feeling, which I know is in the heart of many who read his name, that
we did not realize the heroism of the big fellow in the old days of
peace. It took a war to show us how heroic our people are.

Not all the heroes are war-heroes either. The slow-grinding, searching
tests of peace have found out some truly great ones among our people
and have transmuted their common clay into pure gold.

It is much more heartening to tell of the woman who went right rather
than of her who went wrong, and for that reason I gladly set down here
the story of one of these.

Mrs. Elizabeth Tweed is the wife of Private William Tweed--small,
dark-eyed, and pretty, with a certain childishness of face which makes
her rouged cheeks and blackened eyebrows seem pathetically, innocently
wicked.