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 no home awaited him. His widowed mother, having married again, had closed her heart and her house to the shattered hero. Turned from her door, he came to Uncle Sam, to offer such service as he could then render in the merchant marine.

Seated in a sheltered corner of the Comforts Forwarding Room, the homeless one was gently led to relax, and confidently rest in the mother love there shown him. Was there no church to help him?

“Oh, mercy, no, I never went to church; but my people are Protestants.” “How did you happen to come in here?”

“I don't know. I was across the street.”

“I know; it was because we can help you.”

“That is impossible. (A sigh.) I am so lonesome.”

“If you stay in this city we will give you something to do.”

“I wish I could do something for you.”

The conversation closed with the gift of a Sentinel, a pamphlet and an invitation to come again Monday morning.

At nine o'clock there stood the boy, happy, whistling.

“I went to your church yesterday; ain't it fine!”

No mention of the church had hitherto been made to him, but he had found a notice of it in the Sentinel, and even the pouring rain could not keep him from its doors. His happy visits to the Comforts Forwarding Rooms continued, until his ship put out to sea; and it was a very different boy who said, “Good-bye; I shall come to see you on my return.”

One day a little Italian woman appeared at a distributing headquarters. “My boy in France; he cold; he say boys all around him nice and warm; they tell