Tennyson's dream. Such a dream will not die from the earth, and men
will just keep on dreaming it until some day it will come true, for--

"Man proposes--God disposes;
Yet my hope in Him reposes,
Who in war-time still makes roses."


The white and crimson roses of that little cottage in Brittany, the
quiet and peace and promise and vision of a Jeanne d'Arc in the village
of Domremy; the blooming of a billion red poppies in the fields of
France; the blanketing of the earth with a covering of white snow
sufficient to hide the ugliness of war, even for a day, all give
promise of the God who, in the end, when he has given man every chance
to redeem himself, and who, even amid cruel wars "still makes roses,"
will finally bring to pass "peace on earth; good-will to men."

"_Somewhere in France_."




IX

SILHOUETTES OF SUFFERING

All night long a group of Red Cross and Y. M. C. A. men and women had
been feeding the refugees from Amiens. There were two thousand of them
in one basement room of the Gare du Nord. They had not eaten for
forty-eight hours. Most of them were little children, old men, and