A WAR STORY.
(To THE EDITOR OP THE "SPECTATOR."]
Sin,—It is possible that you may care to print the following little true story. It was written to his mother by a sapper soldier-lad at the front, since dead. He and two mates had become separated from their company, and for three days they wandered over the veld, vainly trying to rejoin. They had eaten the little food they carried with them and were almost starving, when, seeing a lonely farmhouse in the distance, they went up to it in the hope of finding something to eat. It was, however, deserted and empty, except for a " little cat," which easily allowed itself to be caught. Of course, the first idea was that this could be killed and cooked; but, though one after another each lad passed it to his mate, no one of them could "get up his heart" to kill the little thing, and they let it go free. Searching the ground of an empty fowlhouse, they contrived to scrape up a few handfuls of maize, and boiled it for a meaL The next day they suc- ceeded in rejoining their comrades.—I am, Sir, &c.,
ONCE THE LAD'S SUNDAY CLASS TEACHER.
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