“What was his company?” some one asked.

“Company C, 47th Infantry,” Miss Mink repeated importantly.

“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.

“How much farther is it to the Camp?” Miss Mink asked desperately.

“About a mile,” said the conductor.  “I wouldn’t try it if I was you, the walking’s fierce.”

But Miss Mink was not to be turned back.  Gathering her skirts as high as her sense of propriety would permit, and grasping her basket she set bravely forth.  The trip alone to the Camp, under the most auspicious circumstances, would have been a trying ordeal for her, but under the existing conditions it required nothing less than heroism.  The snow had drifted in places as high as her knees, and again and again she stumbled and almost lost her footing as she staggered forward against the force of the icy wind.

Before she had gone half a mile she was ready to collapse with nervousness and exhaustion.

“Looks like I just can’t make it,” she whimpered, “and yet I’m going to!”

The honk of an automobile sent her shying into a snowdrift, and when she caught her breath and turned around she saw that the machine had stopped and a hand was beckoning to her from the window.

“May I give you a lift?” asked a girl’s high sweet voice and, looking up, she saw a sparkling face smiling down at her over an upturned fur collar.

Without waiting to be urged she climbed into the machine, stumbled over the rug, and sank exhausted on the cushions.

“Give me your basket,” commanded the young lady.  “Now put your feet on the heater.  Sure you have room?”