"Why, that's my boy's company," said Mrs. Bacon. "_They_ haven't gone to
France."

The thought of her soldier being in the trenches even, was more
tolerable to Miss Mink than the thought of his being in town and failing
to come to her for Sunday dinner.

"I bet he's sick," she announced. "I wish I could find out."

Mrs. Bacon volunteered to ask her Jim about him, and three days later
stopped by Miss Mink's cottage to tell her that Bowinski had broken his
leg over a week before and was in the Base Hospital.

"Can anybody go out there that wants to?" demanded Miss Mink.

"Yes, on Sundays and Wednesdays. But you can't count on the cars running
to-day. Jim says everything's snowed under two feet deep."

Miss Mink held her own counsel but she knew what she was going to do.
Her soldier was in trouble, he had no family or friends. She was going
to him.

With trembling fingers she packed a small basket with some apples, a jar
of jelly and a slice of cake. There was no time for her own lunch, so
she hurriedly put on her coat and twisting a faded scarf about her neck
trudged out into the blustery afternoon.

The blizzard of the day before had almost suspended traffic, and when
she finally succeeded in getting a car, it was only to find that it ran
no farther than the city limits.