ostensibly to speak to her, but in reality to ask Bowinski to go home to
dinner with them. She waived them all aside.

"No, he's going with me!" she announced firmly, and Bowinski obediently
picked up his hat and accompanied her.

For the following month this scene was enacted each Sunday, with little
change to outward appearances but with great change to Miss Mink
herself. In the mothering of Bowinski she had found the great adventure
of her life. She mended his clothes, and made fancy dishes for him, she
knit him everything that could be knitted, including an aviator's helmet
for which he had no possible use. She talked about "my soldier" to any
one who would listen.

Bowinski accepted her attention with grave politeness. He wore the
things she made for him, he ate the things she cooked for him, he
answered all her questions and kissed her hand at parting. Miss Mink
considered his behavior perfect.

One snowy Sunday in late November Miss Mink was thrown into a panic by
his failure to appear on Sunday morning. She confided to Sister Bacon in
the adjoining pew that she was afraid he had been sent to France. Sister
Bacon promptly whispered to her husband that he _had_ been sent to
France, and the rumor spread until after church quite a little group
gathered around Miss Mink to hear about it.

"What was his company?" some one asked.

"Company C, 47th Infantry," Miss Mink repeated importantly.