pression upon the face of a graven image. Offhand one would have agreed with Mrs. Putnam when in her analysis of "The Lady" she says: "Sentimentally the lady has established herself as the criterion of a community's civilization. Very dear to her is the observance that hedges her about. In some subtle way it is so bound up with her self-respect and with her respect for the man who maintains it, that life would hardly be sweet to her without it. When it is flatly put to her that she cannot become a human being and yet retain her privileges as a non-combatant, she often enough decides for etiquette."

There is a student of women speaking about women, and yet her generalization has been proved an error only seven years after her book was written. The ladies of America haven't decided in "favor of etiquette"-with one accord they have chosen to become human beings.

While it is true, as Mrs. Putnam says, that "a lady may become a nun in the strictest and poorest order without altering her view of life, without the moral convulsion, the destruction of false ideas, the truth of character that would be the preliminary steps toward becoming an efficient stenographer," nevertheless that convulsion has occurred and all over the country women of every class are rallying to the call of "Service." The millionaire's wife is working side by side with the grocer's daughter, the music-teacher, and the

canister and received his sandwiches and fruit, then filed back again and into the cars. The sandwiches had all vanished-so had the bananas. One of the coffee-canisters had been overturned. They had made a clean sweep of everything in sight.

On the platform they had maintained a dignified silence, but once back in their seats they all began as a matter of course to sing. And how they sang! Their mellow voices floated out through the car windows and through the station until it echoed like some big dimly lighted cathedral to the antiphonies of a full choir-camp-meeting hymns like "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," alternating with such by-gone relics as "Camptown Races," "I'se Gwine Back to Dixie, and "Golden Slippers." Then at a hint from the major a quartet of tall, handsome, deep-throated lads came out on the platform and gave us a programme of Hampton songs, while all of us, including the shop-girls and Mrs. Highbilt, gathered in a crowd about them. I've never heard such singing. Neither, I bet, have the boches. I believe those fellows will drive Fritz out of his trenches to the tune of some plantation melody.

In the midst of "Carry Me Back to Ole Virginny" a station-hand came running along the platform and said that the train was going to pull out, that they were eleven minutes behind time. From inside came the sound of a mouth-organ and a chorus of "Where

do we go from here, boys? Where do we go from here?"

"All aboard! All aboard!" shouted the trainstarter.

The young major saluted Miss Pritchett again.

"Thanks a lot!" he said. "The men hadn't had anything to eat since three o'clock yesterday after

"Thank you for the concert!" she answered. "They're a fine regiment! Good luck to you!"

The song inside changed to a thundering chorus of "Onward, Christian Soldiers." The train began to slide along the rails and the major stepped up on the lowest step of the platform, seemingly loath to go.

"It's awfully good of you, you know," he added feelingly, "to take such a lot of trouble."

"Not a bit!" she answered. "It's not much! I wish it were more!"

His eyes continued to linger upon her until an intervening pillar cut off his view. The whole episode had not taken more than twenty minutes. Oh, to be young! And to be going! I was meditating upon the misfortunes of being old when I was ordered to superintend the refilling of the coffee-urns. Mrs. Wadbone was brushing off the tables and Mrs. Highbilt was overseeing the efforts of two truckmen who were staggering from the other end of the platform with a basket of sandwiches.

"You get the coffee up-stairs in the restaurant," ordered Miss Pritchett. "These men will take the cans up in the elevator to the main level.”

An official now came down the iron steps from the gate.

"We have just had word that the next train with fifteen hundred conscripts from Yaphank has been delayed two hours. It will get in about quarter past six."

Miss Pritchett laughed and shrugged her shapely shoulders.

"You'll let us sleep in the waiting-room?" she asked. "The station is yours!" he answered gallantly. "It's too bad!"

"Come on, everybody!" she called. "Let's go up to the restaurant and get some coffee ourselves."

Miss Pritchett and I pushed six of the small tables together, making one large one, and the party sat down indiscriminately. I made an excuse for my presence by being very active with the coffee and sandwiches, and while the kaffee klatsch was in full swing found an opportunity to make my apologies to Miss Pritchett for my lack of receptivity over the telephone.

"You see," I explained in mitigation of my offense, "Helen was the last person in the world I could imagine doing this sort of thing, so I took it for granted that you had got the wrong number."

"You're not the first husband who has been surprised in that way recently," she retorted. "Husbands seem to be a little incredulous. Maybe that's why they elected me chairman-because I'm unencumbered."

"You ought to round up a couple of thousand husbands and let them see what you're doing here-it's great!" said I warmly. "It might start the husbands doing something."

Miss Pritchett nodded.

"It's a pity more people don't know the response that the women of the country have made," she said. "It's really very fine. I know that the men are giving their lives and their fortunes without a murmur, but numerically they aren't doing as much as the women. If you look around you the chances are that for every man you know here in New York who is really doing something for the war, you will find five times as many women doing just as much. The number of women of every class who have turned to and helped is quite marvellous and it's growing bigger every day."

"Splendid!" I exclaimed, conscious that as yet I wasn't one of the men who had done anything. "What are they doing? What do you think is the most important thing they can do?"

"Well," she replied, "it seems to me that in the country and the smaller towns food conservation is obviously the best way in which women can help. They are right there next to the crops and know how