Mr. Greggor Fishes in Cuba. who looked on him in amazement and of the camp duties which no sane soldier can forget. The inevitable happened. He was promptly marched off to the guard tent for not answer ing the summons of the drum. But this change of locality made no difference to the babbling brook which had charmed him. Possessing himself of a piece of string and a pin, he soon was fishing again and again continuing the song, "How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?" Reprimanded, scoffed at, made to perform his duty under the vigilance of the guard, all of which he bore with a Scotch stoicism, when the chance offered he immediately re turned to his fishing. Occasionally he would ask, "Do ye no smell the hills?" A kindly wonder replaced the first jeering of the camp. All through the months of ser vice Greggor had done a man's work. He was no shirk. And the laugh which first greets the disordered mind gave place 'to the sympathy which the sane always feel for the less sane. "They ought to send him home now, while there's a chance," the men had said. And the Colonel himself inclined to the same opinion. Yet to justify himself, he had ordered that Greg gor should be left undisturbed for one day, to see if he would not tire of his endless fish ing. Here was the result. From six o'clock that morning, without stopping for his food, the man had sat before his tent, humming that never-ending tune, and had fislucl an I fished. The Surgeon had reported on the case.
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"There is nothing the matter with the man except homesickness," he had said, "but the chances are it will kill him inside of a week." Nothing but homesickness! The Colonel as he sat in his tent and reviewed the case wondered if it were not enough. After the heat of the day the cool night air of Cuba suggested the lands far away to the north. Surely, when a man had served so sturdily, it was hard for him to die. The Colonel laid down his pipe, drew forth his writing ma terials, and recommended that on account of "acute nostalgia" Private Greggor be honorably dismissed from the service and be sent on the next transport to New York. Through the few days that intervened be fore his discharge, Greggor continued to fish with unabated persistency. Called to his meals, he ate sparingly. Release from oversight, back he went again to his fishing, indifferent to all else about him. And when the hour for dismissal finally arrived he was allowed to carry his pole on board the trans port, while two soldiers from his company saw to his effects. Once safely on board the transport, how ever, the mists seemed to clear from his mind. The babble of imaginary brooks died away. And as the transport weighed anchor Greggor was seen to cast his fishing pole into the sea. "I'm no gone daft at all," he called to the men in the small boat below him, as he peered over the side at them complaisantly. "Ye see I just caught what I was fishing for."
