"I'm sorry I brought it back," I said humbly.

He didn't notice what I said, but went on.

"Wife and I were broken-hearted. There didn't seem much to live for.
We had lost all. Then came this Y. M. C. A. work, and we thought that
we would like to come over here and do for all the boys in the army
what we could not do for our own. And now wife and I are here, and
every time I do something for a wounded boy in this hospital, I feel as
if I were serving my own dear lads."

"And you are," I said. "And if the mothers and fathers of America know
that men and women of your type are here looking after their lads it
will give them a new sense of comfort and you will be serving them
also."

"And my wife," he added. "You know the boys up at ---- call her 'The
Woman with the Sandwiches and Sympathy.' She got her name because one
night a drunken soldier staggered into the hut and asked for her. He
didn't remember her name, but she had darned his socks, she had written
letters for him, she had mothered him, she had tried to help him. They
wanted to put the poor lad out, but he insisted upon seeing my wife.
Finally, in desperation, seeing that he couldn't think of her name, he
said, 'Wan' see that woman wif sandwiches and sympathy,' and after that
the name stuck."

[Illustration: "The boys call her 'The Woman with Sandwiches and
Sympathy.'"]