HOME, SWEET HOME
Jonthy," says I, "God knows it will be the last good time for some of them!"
"Nevertheless," says old Jon, in the way I knew, "I can't permit this. They are demoralizing—"
Just about then a hundred girls or so, all dressed up, joined hands across the road right in front of us.
Jon surrendered.
Then a couple hundred more gathered there, right in the road, about the dearest young faces I had ever seen, and began to sing.
Annie Laurie, Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still, Tramp, Tramp, Tramp! All Quiet Along the Potomac To-night, Home, Sweet Home!
The battered soldiers had begun by singing out of tune with them—very gay. And there was much tossing of flowers to and fro and laughing. But at Home, Sweet Home a great silence fell. They took off their hats and let the tears roll down their cheeks. They weren't much like the apple-faced boys, these bearded,
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