greatly done, were done in vain, had not one other child of mine, now tallest grown, stepped in as England did, as you shall see"

The scene changes to the English trenches "Somewhere in France," April 6th, 1917.

It is twilight, the men are chatting as the roar of the guns gradually ceases. There is chaff and ragging, and one "Smithers," who, in the course of the talk, is discovered to be an American, wins with his frankness the sympathy of his Lieutenant. Suddenly a Major appears-"Great News," he cries. "Pass the word along-'America's In.'" There is a shout of joy, and "Smithers," giving the Harvard yell, jumps upon the parapet. He is frantic with delight.

"Come down, you fool," shouts the Major.

"Not on your life, sir," screams Smithers. He fumbles in his tunic, pulls out a pocket Stars and Stripes, sticks it on his bayonet, crying, "Thank God, I need hide it no longer.'

Dick rushes forward-"Oh, don't, Daddy, don't! Come down!" Smithers throws up his arms, falls back, and crumples up.

He raises himself up, looks right into Dick's eyes, smiles and says: "Hullo, Kid." Then he falls back, dead.

"Oh, Freedom, Freedom," cries Dick, "his

name wasn't Smithers. It was my Daddy, dying for you. It was my Daddy. Daddy, I saw you do it 'Hullo, Kid'—saw you do it! Oh, FreeHe buries his face against Freedom's

dom." breast.

And Freedom, the Comforter, answers: "Be brave. Remember, there is no death for him. Though you may not see him for a time, he lives." "I'm sorry, Dick," says Hank.

DICK: "I'm not. I'm glad he died for Freedom. When I get back home I won't wear this mourning-band any more."

HANK: (Awed) "You won't?"
DICK: "Never more."

Freedom prepares the boys for the next scene. It passes in St. Paul's Cathedral where all the greatest in London are gathered to attend the solemn service held to commemorate the entry of the United States into the war. The King and Queen of England are there, and near them kneel the American Ambassador and his wife. Over them is "Old Glory" hanging above the altar, beside the Union Jack. It is an impressive scene of solemn grandeur, and martial music. When "God Save the King" and the "Star Spangled Banner” have been sung, Freedom, with the two boys, moves to the High Altar. As she turns to face

the congregation, the lights slowly fade out till all is dark save for the radiance that streams from Freedom. So standing she recites to her own leit motif "The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'

All else save the figure of Freedom is dark. Then the dawn begins to steal forth, and in the glimmering light, gradually increasing, is seen a procession of Freedom's sons and daughters, called from the ages to honor the world's last great fight for Freedom and Victory.

Suddenly all grows dark. Once more we are in the cottage bedroom in Westchester County, N. Y., and the new day is here.

Everything is the same as in the opening scene of Act I. There are the beds, the boys, the slats of the jalousies through which the sun is now shining, the French windows, open as before. There is Mrs. Archer, she is just the same; and Hank is almost the same; but there is a change in Dick. Of the three he is the one who has made a sacrifice, compulsory, not voluntary, the sacrifice of a father. The full meaning of it has now reached him. He remembers the dream. Dimly it has become a reality to him.

The familiar world around him seems a little unreal. While Mrs. Archer and Hank are beginning the day in the orthodox manner, he, stirred

by some uncharted emotion, wanders up the room, and throws open the jalousies into the garden, showing the great bed of virgin lilies shining in the sun.

He runs into the garden and pulls an armful of the lilies. His face is radiant.

Dick reënters the room. His arms are full of the flowers. Hank is steadily lacing his boots. Dick stands alone, in ecstasy, and recites:

"In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As he died to make men holy, let us live to make men free, While God is marching on!"

MRS. ARCHER: "That's not right, child. It is 'die' to make men free."

DICK: (Excitedly) "Yes it is. It's live to make men free. They don't die. My daddy didn't die for Freedom, but lives, lives, lives! She said so. Didn't she, Hank? Didn't she?"

HANK: (Pulling on his other boot, his face red with the pulling) "You've said it, Jamesie!"

MRS. ARCHER: (Sitting on the bed, agape) "Well, what's come over you both this morning?"

The question is not answered. On her wonderment the curtain falls.

"What's Freedom," little boy? Freedom herself has answered your question.

EPILOGUE

MAKING DEMOCRACY SAFE FOR THE WORLD

HE wisdom of humorists is proverbial. They

TH

can make laughter because they feel tears. Laughing through their pity, they produce wisdom, which is the child of silent laughter and unfallen

tears.

Mr. Augustine Birrell is a humorist in spite of the fact that he was once a Cabinet Minister. Being a humorist, his silken asides, when he is addressing an audience, are shot with wisdom.

So, the other day, when, looking cursorily through a batch of London newspapers I noticed at the end of a column a brief report of a speech by Mr. Birrell, I settled down to read it, as one settles down to a potato "à la O'Brien."

I was rewarded. I came upon this:

"To the statement of President Wilson that we are at war to make the world safe for democracy, I would add that I should like to see democracy made safe for the world."

Democracy, obviously, is as great a menace as