Miss Mink's Soldier and Other Stories

								

herself. In the mothering of Bowinski she had found the great adventure
of her life. She mended his clothes, and made fancy dishes for him, she
knit him everything that could be knitted, including an aviator's helmet
for which he had no possible use. She talked about "my soldier" to any
one who would listen.
Bowinski accepted her attention with grave politeness. He wore the
things she made for him, he ate the things she cooked for him, he
answered all her questions and kissed her hand at parting. Miss Mink
considered his behavior perfect.
One snowy Sunday in late November Miss Mink was thrown into a panic by
his failure to appear on Sunday morning. She confided to Sister Bacon in
the adjoining pew that she was afraid he had been sent to France. Sister
Bacon promptly whispered to her husband that he had been sent to
France, and the rumor spread until after church quite a little group
gathered around Miss Mink to hear about it.
"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