Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1918-02-22
A Soldier S
Idyl
Copyright. 1917. Western Newspaper Union
By JESSE ETHEL sHERwIN

Every mother was in tears, ever sis
ter looked sad. Only the thoughtless
sweethearts and those who had no rel
alive going to the front seemed indif-
ferent to the occasion.
1t vas a pathetic picture, for all the
brave or mock-buoyant bearing of the
boys In khaki. In the minds of all
was the sorrowful knowledge that
many among the odd five hundred re-
cruits leaving the training camp for an
eastern shipping point, were viewing
friends and home for the last time.
AS to the soldiers, every man was
erect, bright-eyed, laughing, joking and
singing. One fair-haired fellow
seemed to be the prime favorite of the
group with whom he marched.
"All got your troubles, fellows" ne
jollied. Free from care I-tra-la-la !
Not a living relative in the world, so
ne weepers, and if / get it on some
lone hill, why, 40 mourners.2
There was a tug at his arm as he
ranged up with the others on the depot
| platform to await the backing in of
the train. He turned, off came his
hat, a gratiied flush crossed his face.
IF you please, Mr.. Wilbur" spoke a
shy, lovely, dimpled girl, scarcely his
own age. "Could mamma say good-by
to you?"
Roy Wilbur had said he had no rel
atives or friends in particular. He rec
ognized his mistake. Was not Eva
Burt here at his side? And her moth
er had sent for him And because he
had been poor and obscure he had
never dared to raise his eyes with the
feryOr he inwardly experienced, but
now a sudden hope inspired him.
"You have neglected us of late, Mr..
| Wilbur" spoke Mrs. Burt, but her
tones were indulgent, almost caressing.
No one could resist the appeal of that
boyish, ingenious face and the pathos
of his envir onment.
Training camp-getting ready to
leave" and like fragments of explana-
ton tided Roy through a confused
apology.
eve shall think of you wearing this
in the trenches" continued Mrs. Burt,
handing Roy a parcel containing a
sweater. Homemade, and especial
ly for you, and Eva"
The young girl fluttered like a timid
bird. ut is only a little comfort kit,
Mr.. Wilbur" she said.
Their eyes met as he accepted the
little package. Then Eva Burt burst
into tears and hid her face against her
mothers arm.
Poor boyw said Mrs. Burt, herself
deeply affected, and her hand rested
upon the uncovered head with a gen.
tleness of a blessing. 81 know you
will make us all proud of you"
A quick order came from an officer,
and, waving his hand in adieu, Roy
fastened back into the ranks, a new
ideal come into his life at that mo-
ment.
"Strike her up!" hailed a comrade,
and the unslung ukelele twanged out a
melody he could 10Y inspire with gen.
uine appropriation and fervor, "The
Girl l Left Behind Me-"
AT the open window of the passen-
ger coach he was going over the
sprightly air to the accompaniment of
the voices of his comrades, when the
train started up. In the near distance
Mrs. Burt was waving her handker-
chief in adieu. Eva, standing just be-
hind her, kissed her hand to him. He
thrilled. He was no longer friendless
o lonely.
you're putting the right punch into
that song" enthused a fellow soldier,
and every note brought new life and
courage to dashing, reckless, single
hearted Roy Wilbur.
In the trenches the whimsical little
instrument did its cheering duty, and
its lovable owner was the soul of that
jollity which makes hardship endur-
able. One night Roy vas returning
from a visit to a neal camp, when a
portion of the brigade to which he
belonged swept by him, bent on cap
turing a redoubt somewhat ahead. AS
he drew aside to let them pass a shell
burst directly owe his head. He was
thrown PROSTATE, with a dozen ugly
wounds.
Roy lay there awaiting the coming
of an ambulance following the troop.
He was faint, In pain and dangerously
hurt, but he unslung the ukelele with
which he had been entertaining the
camp he had visited. Out upon the
clear air rang the notes of his favor
lite air, encouraging those on the
march, and they broke out into re-
sounding cheers.
Roy Wilbur was taken to the hospit-
al, to collapse. Then there was fever,
delirium, two months convalescence,
and one fair, sunny morning the chief
surgeon pronounced him on the way
to recovery.
where's my ukelele? I want to cele-