William D. Howells, the well-known American author, in an autobiographic sketch tells how as a boy he once left his Ohio home and went with an older brother to take a job in a nearby town. His brother got him settled in his lodgings and then went back to the station to take the train home. But when the train came in, William was there, too; and together they went home, as if from a far country and after a year's absene. It was a winter afternoon when he turned up at the station, and the sky was apple green. All through his life, Howells said, he could never see a sky that color in the winter without experiencing the same feeling of homesickness and desolation that came over him that wintry day in the long ago in that Ohio town.
One of our volunteers in the late war lost some of his first enthusiasm under the bitter experience of campaigning. One night at the front in France, while his company was stationed in a wood, a lieutenant discovered the recruit sitting on a log and weeping bitterly. The officer spoke roughly:
"Now, what are you bawling about, you big baby?"
"I wish I was in my daddy's barn!" replied the soldier in a plaintive voice.
"In your daddy's barn!" the astonished lieutenant exclaimed. "What for? What would you do if you were in your daddy's barn?"
"If I was in my daddy's barn," the youth explained huskily through a choking sob, "I'd go into the house mighty quick!"