back, as he thought of the separation, as it was for the mother.

Then the daddy would say to the mother: "I feel ashamed of myself to
cry when I think of the thousands of daddies and husbands who are
leaving their homes, not for six months' or a year's service, but 'for
the period of the war,' and leaving with so much more of a cloud
hanging over them than I. I have every hope that I will be back with
you in six or eight months, but they----"

"Yes, but your own grief will make you understand all the better what
it means to the daddies in the army who leave their babies and their
wives, and oh, dear, be good to them!"

Then there was the next morning at the Oakland pier as the great
transcontinental train pulled out, when the little six-year-old lady
for the first time suddenly saw what losing her daddy meant. She
hadn't visualized it before. Consequently, she had been brave, and had
even boasted of her bravery. But now she had nothing to be brave
about, for as the train started to move she suddenly burst into sobs
and started down the platform after the train as fast as her sturdy
little legs could carry her, crying between sobs, "Come back, daddy!
Come back to Betty! Don't go away!" with her mother after her.

The daddy had no easy time as he watched this tragedy of childhood from
the observation-car. It was a half-hour before he dared turn around
and face the rest of the sympathetic passengers.

Going back on the ferry to San Francisco the weeping did not cease. In
fact it became contagious, for a kindly old gentleman, thinking that
the little lady was afraid of the boat, said: "What's the matter, dear?