THAT'S WOT I SEZ. COMB 'EM OUT."]
* * * * *
TACTICS.
"Maman! ? quel saint prie-t-on--" began Jeanne. Ah! but no, a
recollection flashed across her mind and was reinforced by other
memories. "J'en ai fini avec les saints," she mused, proceeding to
the other end of the room where, full of intention, she busied herself
among some books. Yes, she was now quite disillusioned; that latest
blow, on her recent tenth birthday, had confirmed finally her
long-growing suspicion--prayer to the saints was unavailing.
After a time; "Maman, pour que Papa vienne en permission ? qui faut-il
que l'on s'adresse?"
"A son colonel, mon enfant. Mais, ma fi-fille, tu sais...!"
Jeanne, with an air of having something to decide for herself, paid
no heed, but resumed the study of her picture-book description of the
French Army, murmuring: "Un colonel--est-ce que c'est comme un saint,
ou bien est-ce que c'est comme le bon Dieu lui-m?me?"
Some moments of deep silence spent in intense study ended with a
triumphant: "Bon! j'y suis." That was exactly what she had wished
to discover, the very source of power.
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