One dear boy was hit and buried by a shell. His friend and chum dug and dug and dug through ten feet of earth under all kinds of fire and flame and rescued him; both the friend and the rescued being sent back together to one of the many hospitals of our base. Another was rescued from a burning house, severely wounded with many wounds and already unconscious. His dazed impression was that he was being dragged by Peter through the golden gates into wondrous brightness and warmth. He owes his life to the dauntless courage of a Christian stretcher bearer. When visiting a wounded youth in hospital one day I saw another whom I thought was too ill to listen to my Gospel messages. As I was passing he opened his eyes and gave a beckoning glance. I approached him immediately. His arm was fractured and he had a deep chest wound also. “Are you not too ill to listen, lad?” I very gently put the question. “Oh, no, Sister!” Such a wealth of longing revealed itself in the reply. I drew very near and showed him the way to God for forgiveness through Christ Jesus. He had so much desired to learn the blessed truth. He rested absolutely upon the words, “Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out,” and “As many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name,” and “Beloved, now are we the sons of God.” Blessed assurance of the remission of sins billowed in, deep holy rest relieved the stormy soul, and this dear Irishman gaspingly told me of a praying mother, of miraculous deliverance from death up the line, and a desire for years to be at peace with God.