“Grandpa Jim,” said Mary Louise one May morning as they sat together at the breakfast table, “I see the Dorfield Regiment is due to arrive home to-day or to-morrow.”

“So I see,” replied the old Colonel, “if we may rightly call it the ‘Dorfield’ Regiment. The newspapers don’t mention the fact, but it takes in the whole surrounding country, because there were not enough Dorfield boys to fill the ranks completely and so we took all who applied. I’m afraid you’ll find many unfamiliar faces among the ranks.”

“Still,” said the girl, “there will be some friends anyhow, and the very fact that this is the Dorfield Regiment should arouse our loyal enthusiasm. Why, I’ve followed them all through the war, and somehow this practice has almost made it seem that the whole Dorfield Regiment is a sort of personal possession.”

“I feel much the same way,” said Colonel Hathaway, composedly turning over the Dorfield Gazette. “This is not a delightful country to demobilize in—if we should judge by the Civil War, in which I was somewhat more interested. The regiment may not be free to disorganize for a week, or a month, according to the whim of the War Department.”

“But they’ll enjoy the recreation and the freedom from long marches even if they’re kept here a long time,” returned Mary Louise, “and their pay is the same as when at war. The boys who live here can visit their homes every day, and there may be only a few who come from any great distance. According to the papers, the Dorfield boys saw some real fighting in France.”

“Yes, but new faces in the line are likely to be few,” prophesied the Colonel. “Luckily, not many Dorfield boys lie buried in the French battlefields.”

“What will become of the new men, Grandpa Jim?” asked the girl.

“Well, they will either be furnished money to take them home—second class—or they may obtain positions in or near Dorfield. If there are not too many, they will all get positions here. Many of the merchants I have talked with are already grumbling because ‘help’ is scarce.”

“Let’s go down to the depot and see the trains come in,” suggested Mary Louise. “We’ve none of our kith and kin to greet, but some we know and can shake hands with. Besides, some of those substitutes may live far away and don’t know where to go. They may need friends, or a home, or may have been wounded, and have no one here to care for them. I’m sure we can be of use in some way. We are Dorfield’s own people and must show our appreciation of Dorfield’s own soldiers.”

The Colonel reflected for a time. “During the Civil War there wasn’t another Hathaway in the whole army,” he mused; “yet I had my duty to do, and did it. You know my utmost trial during the Great World War has been my inability to take part in it in any way. A soldier is a soldier always, and here I am on the back shelf unable to help my country in its day of need. Beside being outside of the age limit I haven’t a relative to take my place.” This had been the old gentleman’s grievance for many months. He fumbled with his cane a few moments and then said, “But get your automobile out, and we’ll go down and give the soldiers the welcome they deserve.”

“It’s too rainy and muddy for the auto to-day,” said Mary Louise, “and I don’t want to punish the dear little car by a mud bath. But we’ll take our umbrellas and try to find one of those substitutes who are stranded here, without friends or regular occupation, wondering what to do with themselves.”

“I hope, my dear, you have no such idea as taking one of those persons—what do you call the fellows?—‘substitutes,’ into our family, even as a servant?”

By servant the precise old gentleman had no reference in any way to a house-servant, as the house was fully cared for by Aunt Sally and Uncle Eben. To introduce a stranger into their domestic affairs was indeed preposterous. But Mary Louise understood him the moment he spoke. “Haven’t the soldier boys all been servants of our glorious country?” asked Mary Louise indignantly. “Yes,” he replied, “but they have come from all classes and sections, some of them gentlemen, or scholars, our equals in every way, while others have scarcely enough wit to bring in an armful of wood.” “Even then,” broke in the girl, addressing the aged but stalwart Colonel, “someone must bring in the wood, and it’s an important matter to my mind.” She laughed in her piquant, irresistible way. She continued: “You see, Grandpa Jim, we’ve found at least one good reason for helping the brave soldiers who have so lately fought for the country you fought for many years ago.” “You may be right,” said the old gentleman, “but we are a little premature in this argument, my dear; we only know that the Dorfield Regiment is coming home again, and we only guess that there will be one or more extra men to provide for. Indeed, there may be none at all, for all those big, sturdy fellows had lives to live before they joined the colors. Perhaps half a dozen may be left to find situations and boarding houses for; perhaps two or three are so situated, perhaps one. When all are mustered out and returned to the places from which they enlisted we may have none at all to care for,—and that is a likely probability.”

“True enough, I admit,” said the girl with a little laugh, “so let us patiently wait till the train is in and the boys are mustered out. Then we can tell what duties are required from the loyal citizens of dear old Dorfield. It isn’t a big city, nor did it have a very big regiment to send to the front, nor very many soldiers to fight European battles, so I suppose I am borrowing trouble unnecessarily. Anyhow before we start, as the saying is, let us ring the doorbell and see if anyone is at home.”