sort of care, laid him within an ambulance, shifted him again to a bed in "Tite Maman's" own base hospital. She had pleaded so hard to have them bring him there that it had been so arranged. Even in the falling of the long-dreaded blow a Frenchwoman must stick to her duty. With Johnny anywhere else she could have seen him only in snatched seconds. Here, it could be her own hands that tended him, as her love enveloped him. And he had need of all her help. The

charmed life he had borne so long had availed him nothing at the last against a brutal shattering German grenade that tore away half an upper thigh. The splendid, vital creature that had been Johnny was now only another broken thing thrown from between the dripping jaws of the war-beast.

But courage lived. The courage of heart and mind and soul rose alike in the frail little woman and her big son. They did not fail, as thousands upon thousands

of men and women in that terrible ordeal have not failed. Pour la Patrie. Men have borne every form of scorching hell for that sentiment. Women have held aloft tiny babes and cried "Vive la France!" at the passing of the remnant of a regiment to whose drums a husband's, a father's, feet once marched. Pour la Patrie. Common struggle, common grief have levelled all barriers, bound together all classes, brought forth from travail a newer country founded upon a country's one hope-real universal service.

Johnny had had five days upon the rack. Shock and the slight attention that is perforce all that the individual wounded can get at the front left him exhausted in body. In mind he was the same Johnny. To his fundamental refusal to leave "Tite Maman," his closest comrade, his dearest friend, there was added a great longing to stay for the arrival of the first American troops, now set for early in July.

"After all," he said, "I am just in time. In a week they will be here. And we shall see them, 'Tite Maman,' not just as we had it fixed, but we'll see them somehow. I'll be all right now that you're in command.”

That his condition was of the most serious he as well as others fully appreciated. Surgeons looked grave and could hold out little or no hope to the mother who stood with them beside Johnny's bed betraying her feelings only in the little fingers twisting nervously together behind her. For there seemed to be but one chance for Johnny. The most dangerous of operations might save his life. It might as readily be fatal. But there was one pair of keen eyes, there were two slim hands whose skill had already accomplished miracles. If they could find time for Johnny, there was a chance that he might come forth a well if not a whole man.

No time was lost by these two in making up their minds. To face whatever might come and face it fighting had ever been the creed of both. The slender thread of hope should be seized. It remained, then, to get the famous surgeon. "Tite Maman" accomplished this, presenting the case in a personal plea that was irresistible. The day was set, a

little ahead that Johnny might rest in preparation and the surgeon's already overfull schedule be met. Upon July 4, at noon precisely, he would operate.

Fresh and beautiful beneath a sunny sky Paris awoke on the morning of the Fourth, after two days of dampness and rain. She put on gala dress. From her housetops and her windows the tricolor waved beside a different arrangement of the same colors, a younger country's flag now flying again for the same principles: the liberty, the equality, and the everlasting, undeniable brotherhood of man. The streets were early astir with people lingering upon the curb, looking back over their shoulders, talking excitedly with friends. Here was the gray-haired marchande from the corner, a tiny chattering granddaughter beside her. There were two midinettes asking questions of a sergent-de-ville. A tall, dark-haired young man, whose coat with one empty sleeve and two medals was that of the valet-de-chambre of a famous hotel, walked beside an ancient man who leaned upon a cane. Garçons with scarred faces or limping feet forsook their scattered customers at the little tables, and with sadly soiled napkins hanging forgotten over their arms came forth to join the increasing crowds. With scarce an exception the older men and women wore deep black, contrasting sharply with the uniforms of one and another of the many corps and divisions sprinkled liberally along the sidewalk. And through the press gamins wove their way crying: “Le P'tit Parisien !" "Le Matin !" "L'Erald !"

Faces that had smiled only wanly these many months were strangely, expectantly lighted to-day. Clearly they were waiting for something exciting. What? It was the march along that Paris street of an American battalion! Monsieur le Président de la République had already received "Ce Géneral Pair-chieng's" soldiers at the Hôtel des Invalides; together they had paid tribute at the tomb of Lafayette. And now, upon this, the anniversary of America's Declaration of Independence, the battalion was to be paraded, that all Paris and so all France might see in these few hundred the evidence of America's good faith. Small

wonder, then, that Paris covered its heavy heart with a bright smile to greet these sons of kindred mothers, these sweethearts and husbands of other gallant women, these soldiers of America.

In the centre of one section of this street stood a long, gray building. Once the home of a wealthy woman, it now bore over its door two red crosses and the title of a great society. Behind a long, open window stood a bed so placed that its pale occupant, slightly raised upon an extra pillow, might command a small framed picture of the street. To the two lower posts were bound little cotton flags, one French, one American, both fluttering in the soft morning breeze.

Beside the bed's head stood a woman, her figure in freshest linen, the heavy coils of her dark hair confined beneath the stiff folds of a nurse's cap. One hand rested very lightly upon the shoulder of her wounded son. The eyes of both shone bright, the man's with the look of one who suddenly sees the realization of a long-dreamed happiness, the woman's with that touch of pain that marks the deeper glory of motherhood.

The roar of a gas-engine entered the street, drowning the murmur of voices. An aeroplane passed above the heads of the throng, so close to the housetops that none could understand how its daring driver could complete his marvellous loops. Then the beating of drums, the swinging music of a martial air, and the shouting of a thousand throats. From

the sidewalk women flung kisses, handkerchiefs, flowers. Men in uniform and out of it assaulted the marching ranks, fairly tore the rifles from the hands of these dun-clad young men, and embraced them as comrades, as brothers. There should be left no doubt in American minds that France was unfeignedly glad to welcome this vanguard of a host of saviors.

Through his window Johnny heard the music and the shouts, saw the high-flung caps, the broken ranks. He was breathing deeply. Then his hand went up in salute as a silken, corded, high-held flag passed before him.

"There it is, "Tite Maman,"" he cried, "there it is! And it has come to stay. I knew it. I knew it. Think what they are feeling out there in the trenches, this minute. What wouldn't I give to have Duclos and De Briand here to see it! And-and-Maman-it makes it all much easier"-he took the little hand from his shoulder and carried it to his lips-"if-if things don't turn out quite right, at least France will never fall now, and at least you will be quite safe. But it's going to be all right"-the triumphant note came back into his voice "of course it's going to be all right. Johnny Campbell's going to fool them yet. I've got to meet all those good men. And even with one game leg there's a lot I can teach them about this business. Fly, 'Tite Maman'; tell them I'm ready. Bring on your surgeon !"