The spot they had chosen for the picnic was quite a distance away from Camp Liberty, and by the time the party finally reached it, both boys and girls were wondering if the generous contents of the hampers would serve even to take the edge off their appetites.
"I don't see why we didn't take your car, Mollie," Grace complained, as they covered the last stretch of dusty road. "We would have been on the picnic grounds and had our lunch eaten by this time."
"But just think what's in store for us," Betty reminded her cheerily. "We need a good appetite to eat up all this lunch."
"Well, I don't know," Grace grumbled back. "It seems to me I had a good enough appetite for two lunches, each twice as big as this, when we started."
"Heavens!" cried Frank Haley, who was walking in front with Mollie, "I see my chances of a square meal dwindling."
"I'm beginning to agree with Grace," grinned Roy Anderson, "that we made a big mistake in not taking the car."
"Oh, you're all just lazy," was Mollie's accusation. "We haven't been walking more than an hour and there's the spot, just around that turn in the road."
"Say," and Will, who had not yet spoken, turned suddenly to Betty, "isn't this the road where the accident happened that introduced that nice little old woman—what's her name—"
"Mrs. Sanderson," Betty supplied.
"Yes, that's it. Isn't this about the place where you found her?"
"Goodness, no," put in Amy. "It was on this road, but we were miles out of town."
"Will, I'd love you all the rest of my life if you'd only find that motorcyclist and have him punished," said Betty fervently. "It makes me wild when I think how easily he got away from us—"
"Never mind that," interrupted Will, his eyes twinkling. "All I want is to have you repeat the first part of your speech. What was that about loving me all the rest of my life?"
"Say, what's the idea?" demanded Allen suddenly, having been engrossed in a little dream all his own. "What kind of rash promises are you asking Betty to make?"
"Well, I would," contended Betty stoutly, adding with a twinkle: "Like a sister."
"Oh," said Will, turning disappointedly away. "If that's all you have to offer me—"
"But I've got lots more than that," Betty assured him quickly. "Why, Will, if you're real good, I may even give you an extra piece of cake."
"Well, now, that's different again," cried Will, his interest rekindling.
"Will," remonstrated Grace plaintively, "I'm surprised at you. You are really getting shockingly material."
"Getting!" interjected Frank, with a grin.
"Go on, Betty, never mind this vulgar rabble—with apologies to you, sweet sister," as Grace shot an indignant glance at him. "You were saying that if I found this motorcyclist you'd give me an extra piece of cake, or words to that effect. Am I right?"
"Perfectly," laughed Betty, then added, seriously: "But, really, I think something ought to be done."
"So do I," Amy backed her up stoutly. "We ought to let those old motorcyclists know they can't run over poor old ladies whenever they feel like it—"
"Favorite outdoor sports," murmured Roy.
"It was the most heartless thing I ever saw," said Mollie, entering into the discussion with a will. "He never even stopped to find out what damage had been done. He might have killed her—"
"But what wouldst thee, sweet damsel?" asked Will patiently. "We can hardly go out on the broad highway and hold up every motorcyclist that comes along—"
"Well, I know what you could do," said Grace, with unusual animation. "You could take one of us along to point out the suspicious characters."
"Yes, we got a fine view of him," added Amy eagerly. "He had small eyes close together—"
"Regular villain type," murmured Frank, but Amy refused to be side-tracked.
"And goggles—"
"They all have those," interrupted Roy.
"And a tiny little mustache that looked as if it had got there by mistake."
"Probably false," suggested Will. "One of the kind you stick on with molasses—like feathers—"
"Oh, do be sensible," cried Mollie impatiently. "Of course you can't go holding him up at the point of a gun, but there ought to be something—"
"Give us time, give us time," Allen interrupted. "Wasn't it Antony who had time and conquered, or something like that—"
"Goodness, anybody'd know you'd been out of school a long time," drawled Grace scathingly. "Mark Antony, indeed!"
"Well, it was one of those guys, anyway," maintained Allen, with admirable impartiality. "And you have to admit the sentiment was fine. All we ask is time—"
"And a little grub," supplemented Will hungrily. "It seems to me I remember somebody saying a couple of hours ago that we were even then approaching our destination, and we seem to be getting no nearer rapidly—"
"Oh, do try to be sensible," cried Mollie, for the second time. "If you would only have some patience—"
"Never heard the word," declared Will with a grin, and Mollie made a face at him—a very disrespectful face.
"Well, but when—" Will was insisting plaintively when Betty interrupted him with a cry of delight.
"Look, people," she said, breaking away from them and running up the rather steep bank lightly.
"This isn't the spot we picked out, but it's twice as pretty. Big rocks for tables—and everything."
"Especially everything," commented Allen, his eyes twinkling.
"Oh, boy!" cried Roy ecstatically, setting down the hamper that had been his share and beginning to examine its contents without further delay. "Chicken! Ham sandwiches! Biscuits! Jelly—"
"Say, get out of that!" cried Frank, snatching the hamper away with a vigor born of fear. "What kind of manners do you call that?"
"They're as good as yours," retorted the outraged Roy hotly. "Besides, there's another hamper, isn't there?"
"Goodness, they seem to think they can have a whole basket apiece," cried Amy Blackford in dismay.
"Well, I guess they've got another think coming," said Allen, inelegantly, placing himself with outstretched arms before the two precious hampers as though he were guarding a gold mine. "Now let him come who dares. Only over my dead body—"
"Oh, what's the use of spoiling our perfectly good party," complained Grace. "Can't we ever begin to enjoy ourselves but what somebody starts taking all the joy out of life by talking about killing somebody, or something—"
"Never mind, Gracie," Frank soothed her, nibbling a chicken bone with great relish. "You'll get over it. It may take time—"
"Silence," commanded Mollie, raising a pickle fork threateningly. "Else in a twinkling I will split thee to the heart—"
"Goodness, she's got it, too," sighed Grace drawlingly.
"What?" asked Mollie briskly, "I'm always interested in my symptoms—"
"It isn't a disease, you goose," drawled Grace. "Unless," she added, as a second thought, "you can call insanity a disease—"
"Well, you ought to know," retorted Mollie, as she proceeded to use the pickle fork to advantage. "What does your doctor say?"
"Now who's bringing war into the party, I'd like to know?" asked Will, helping himself to his ninth biscuit.
"Goodness, that's just the usual thing," Betty explained, looking prettier, so Allen thought, than ever before with the background of lacy green to set off her bright coloring. "If they don't behave like that we know they're sick or something. Do have another biscuit, Roy. Goodness," and she stared round-eyed down into the empty space where the biscuits had been, "they're every one gone! Who did eat them all?"
"Well, you needn't look at me," said Frank in an aggrieved tone. "Will's the fellow you've got to watch."
Will was about to utter some scathing retort when Grace, who had gotten up to shake the crumbs from her dress and had walked down toward the road, suddenly called to them. It was such an excited, urgent call that they left everything and came running.
"What—" began Betty.
"It was the motorcyclist!" cried Grace, her face flaming. "I couldn't have been mistaken, because I caught a good view of his face."
"But what was he doing back here?" demanded Amy, while the rest stared at Grace excitedly. "That's only a rutty old wagon road, and—"
"Well, he was bumping and bouncing like everything, and when he caught sight of me he sent his machine ahead so fast I thought surely he'd have a smash-up."
"Wish he had," said gentle Amy, and at the unusually vindictive expression on her face the others had to laugh.
"Well, there's nothing more we can do now," said Frank practically. "Let's go back and finish our lunch. Probably," he added, as they thoughtfully retraced their steps, "he took the wagon road for fear of running into one of you girls."
"Big coward!" cried Betty, with clenched hands. "I wish I had been with you, Grace, we might have stopped him."
The boys shouted.
"Such a chance!" crowed Roy, but Betty turned on them with flashing eyes.
"Well, we might at least have tried," she cried hotly. "That is more than you boys would have done. You don't seem to be even interested," she continued indignantly. "If I were a man in uniform I'd show that coward that he can't knock old helpless women down and then run away. I'd show him that in insulting an old woman he was insulting the whole United States army—"
"Hurrah!" cried Will irrepressibly, jumping to his feet. "Now you're talking, Betty. How about it, fellows? Shall we do as she says?"
"You bet we will!" they cried, and at the ring in their voices, even Betty's ardent little heart was satisfied.
"Well, where do we go from here, boys?" asked Allen, lazily stretching out on the grass with a convenient, raised bank of moss for a pillow, while the girls repacked the depleted hampers. "It's such a wonderful day, and camp was never like this."
"Tell us something we don't know," Frank retorted. "Gee, it's been a fine experience and all, but, believe me, I'll be glad when the call comes for action."
"They're off again," said Grace plaintively.
"I must say you're not awfully complimentary," added Mollie, busily folding napkins.
"In what way, sweet maid, do we offend?" Will inquired.
"Oh, always talking about how glad you'll be to get away from us," she explained. "Here we thought we'd been entertaining you so beautifully—"
"Gee, you have!" cried Roy, propping himself on his elbow and speaking with unaccustomed solemnity. "It's been just great, having you girls here."
"It certainly has," added Frank. "I guess we'd have gone clean crazy because of homesickness if you hadn't come along just when you did."
"Now you're saying something," added Allen warmly, while the girls stopped packing and looked on happily. "Do you remember what we were talking about that day when we almost—"
"Ran into what we were talking about?" finished Frank with a grin. "You bet I do."
"Well, what was it?" drawled Grace, after they had waited patiently for the boys to continue and the latter had smiled aggravatingly to themselves over their thoughts.
"If it's bad," added Mollie briskly, "we don't want to hear it, for, as the old lady said that used to come to see Mother regularly once a year, 'I don't care what terrible things people say or think about me, if they don't tell me about it,' But if it's good—we might stand it."
"Oh, it was good all right," Frank assured her, still smiling over his thoughts. "We were saying that if we didn't get a furlough so we could go back to Deepdale—"
"For a certain purpose," suggested Will.
"For a certain purpose," Frank repeated solemnly—"we were afraid we might have to desert."
"Yes, that would have been sensible," scoffed Mollie. "Get half a dozen years in prison for yourselves and I'd like to know where your furloughs would be then."
"And you haven't really told us a single nice thing about ourselves," added Betty plaintively. "All the time we've just been holding our breath to listen—"
"We've been doing our best to tell you those nice things, every minute of every day since then," said Allen in a low voice. "If you haven't heard, it's because you wouldn't listen."
Betty colored adorably—to quote Allen again—and resumed her packing with great fervor.
"All of which," Frank finished his self-justification, "shows that we're far from anxious to leave you girls when we say we're eager for action. I guess," he added, thoughtfully, "it's just because we're so crazy to be with you that we're eager to go across."
"That sounds rather—" began Grace, but Frank would not let her finish.
"I know it does," he admitted. "Sounds like a contradiction. But I think you know what I'm trying to get at, just the same."
"Why, sure," Will backed him up eagerly.
"Frank means that we've got a confounded, disagreeable job to do before we can settle down and be happy on good old United States soil again—"
"And the sooner we get it done, the better," finished Roy.
Allen nodded.
"I guess that's about the size of it," he said. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll be coming home again. And, say, fellows, what a home coming!"
At the wistfulness in his voice the girls felt the tears rise to their eyes, and to save them from a breakdown Betty crisply changed the subject.
"I hope you boys can get over to the Hostess House Thursday night to see the entertainment we are helping get up among those new fellows who came week before last," she cried.
"Working yourselves to death over it, are you?" inquired Allen.
"Never!" returned Grace, with sudden emphasis.
"But it's lots of fun," chuckled Mollie. "We have found out by judicious inquiry—Amy, here, soon worms out the heart secrets of these boys by her quiet, sympathetic way—that a number of those boys have parlor tricks of one sort or another, and—"
"That orchestra fellow really is good," interrupted Amy. "Boys, you should hear him play! He has a guitar hung over his shoulder, a harmonica strapped to his head, a piano near by to which he makes sudden dashes, and all the while he dances the most marvelous dance!"
For once Amy was aroused to enthusiasm. The boys, however, were less interested, and Roy wanted to know what the girls themselves had to do in the coming entertainment.
"Oh," laughed Betty, "we are stage managers, scenic artists, stage hands, costumers, modern mutation of the Greek chorus, stays and props for the weak and timid, brakes for the overbold—in fact, we are around to do any work that nobody else wants to do.
"But we haven't decided," she reminded them suddenly, "just how we're going to spend the rest of the afternoon. Of course we can always take a walk—"
"Not after that lunch," declared Allen, striving to sit up, and sinking down again with a moan, "I'm ten pounds heavier than when I came."
"Well, you ought to be ashamed to admit it," retorted Mollie. "I thought in the army you had to be able to hike fifteen miles without winking."
"Sure. But this is our day off," objected Roy. "What do you suppose we get leave for—just to do what we can do every day of our lives?"
"Well, then, for goodness sake, suggest something," cried Mollie impatiently.
"I have an idea," cried Allen, so suddenly that they all started.
"Well, you needn't be so proud of it."
"Do you remember that pond we came across the day we went prospecting alone, Frank?" he continued, not noticing the interruption.
"Yes," Frank answered, catching the idea and looking interested. "Seems to me it ought to be somewhere in this neighborhood. Going to catch some fish?"
"Why, of course," put in Roy scornfully. "We're so attractive all we have to do is to whistle to the little animals to have them squabbling for the best place on the hook."
"My, isn't he the sarcastic boy," grinned Allen. "That little trick might work with you, Roy, but we're more modest."
"Well, have you got any fishing tackle?" queried Roy patiently.
"Sure," it was Frank's turn to be sarcastic. "Don't you know that's a part of every dough boy's outfit—so he can go fishing for the Huns?"
"Peace, peace, my children," entreated Betty plaintively. "Can't we ever talk about anything without getting into an argument?"
"But this isn't an argument; it's a suggestion," said Allen. "Though I expect the scorn and ridicule of an unthinking populace. Perhaps you have heard of the old-fashioned, but sometimes effective, string and bent pin?"
The boys shouted, and Allen bent upon them a pitying glance.
"It is even as I expected," he said sorrowfully. "Well, I have done my best—"
"I say old man," Roy interrupted suddenly, proving an unexpected ally, "I'm for you. Of course we won't get anything, but it will be an adventure. And gee, some fresh fish would taste good!"
So they went to work, eager as children on a lark. The girls managed to furnish enough pins for the hooks, and when the available string gave out, the boys made use of stout, withy vines as substitutes.
And, strange as it may seem, they actually were successful. The little stream proved to be full to overflowing with fish, small to be sure, but still eatable.
"Gee, I never saw anything like it!" cried Roy as he excitedly pulled out one fish after another. "They seem to be eager to be caught. And to think that we actually scoffed at the idea."
"That's what genius always has to bear," put in Allen, resignedly, while Betty gave him a side-wise glance from under her long lashes.
"Oh, don't we hate ourself," she chided softly, as she handed him more bait. "You really shouldn't, Allen—"
"What! Hate myself?" he demanded, letting a fish slip back into the water in his preoccupation. "I'd just as soon—as long as you don't!"
Betty laughed happily. It was so good to be there, unbelievably catching fish, with Allen beside her saying delightful—and foolish—things.
Then she thought of the parting that must inevitably come and her bright face clouded. Allen saw the shadow and leaned toward her anxiously.
"What is it, dear?" he whispered softly. "Have I done anything?"
"No," she answered with a little smile, half-whimsical, half-wistful. "You haven't done anything. It's what you're going to do that hurts."
"Mollie, you've been crying."
"I have not!" snapped Mollie, turning so the light would not fall on her face.
"Well, what are your eyes and nose all red for then?" asked Amy reasonably.
"Ask them," retorted Mollie. "Probably just did it to make me mad."
Several days had gone by, and the entertainment into which the girls had thrown themselves with so much enthusiasm had been given and pronounced a great success by the soldiers stationed at Camp Liberty. Since then the days had been given largely to the routine work of the Hostess House—afternoon teas, evening coffee served to those who wished it, writing letters for the boys, entertaining others, looking after wives and mothers and sisters who were visiting near the camp, suggesting books for some who seemed to be of uncertain taste. Now, on this day, something unusual had plainly happened.
"Oh, girls, I've got a wonderful plan—something new for the soldier boys!" cried Betty, breaking in upon her two friends merrily. Then, seeing that she had interrupted something, paused and looked uncertainly from Amy to Mollie and back again.
"Why, Mollie," she cried anxiously, "what is the matter?"
"Oh, can't you find something original to say?" snapped Mollie irascibly. "Seems to me that's all I hear from morning to night. 'Oh, Mollie, what's the matter—what's the matter, Mollie?' till I could scream."
"Oh, please excuse me," said Betty, with a little freezing quality in her voice. "I thought I might help; but if that's the way you feel about it—"
Quick as a flash Mollie had run to her and, repentant, thrown her arms about the Little Captain's neck.
"Please forgive me, Betty," she cried. "I'm perfectly horrid, and I know I don't deserve a friend like you. But—well, I'm just a beast, that's all," she finished lamely.
Betty laughed and patted her shoulder comfortingly.
"I guess we all are once in a while," she said, adding with a return of her old cheeriness, "Now, prove your repentance by 'fessing up. It's sure to make you feel better."
"Well, it wasn't anything much," Mollie replied, her face clouding again. "Only—I had a quarrel with—with—somebody—"
"How very explicit," drawled Grace, who had entered the room in time to hear the last part of the sentence.
Mollie stiffened, and Betty sent Grace a warning glance.
"Go on, Mollie dear, I'm awfully interested," Betty hurriedly interposed. "Because, you see," she added ruefully, "I just had a quarrel myself."
"You did," cried the three at once, and crowded around her eagerly.
"Oh, Betty, who with?" asked Amy, too excited to bother about grammar. Betty quarreled so seldom with anybody that when she did the girls considered it an event.
"I'll tell you about it after Mollie has 'fessed up," evaded Betty, seeming a trifle sorry for her confidence.
"Oh, did Mollie have one, too?" cried Grace delightedly, while Mollie sent her a hostile glance.
"Well, you needn't be so glad about it," she retorted glumly. "Maybe it wouldn't seem quite so interesting if it were you and Roy."
"Well, how do you know it wasn't?"
The three girls stared.
"What was that you said?" demanded Betty weakly. "I don't think I quite—"
"I said," returned Grace calmly, and pronouncing each word with exaggerated distinctness, "that Roy and I have had a quarrel, which probably would make yours look like nothing at all."
"Grace!" they cried in chorus, "do you mean it?"
For answer Grace turned to the mirror and began to arrange her hair.
"Ask Roy," she flung at them over her shoulder.
Behind her the girls looked at each other dumbly, struggling with a wild desire to laugh and cry at the same instant.
"But how?" Amy was beginning dazedly when once more Betty came to the rescue.
"All this would be funny if it weren't so impossible," she said. "Suppose we begin at the beginning and tell our experiences, since we're all in the same boat. It ought to be interesting—if not instructive."
Grace turned from the mirror and seated herself expectantly on the arm of a chair.
"Well, who's first?" she demanded.
"I am," volunteered Mollie unexpectedly, her eyes glittering. "It was all so utterly absurd, and it made me so m-mad that I had to c-cry—"
"So we see," murmured Grace impatiently, but once more Betty sent her a warning glance.
"And then—" she suggested.
"Well, Frank and I were taking a little walk when all of a sudden I happened to think of the bayonet drill Sergeant Mullins had invited us to."
Betty and Grace started and leaned forward eagerly in their chairs.
"Yes?" they breathed.
"Well," continued Mollie, her color rising, "I don't know whatever got into Frank—he never used to be like that. He just sort of froze up and wouldn't answer my questions or anything until I got so angry I told him that if he didn't tell me what the matter was I'd say good-by to him right there and wouldn't ever speak to him again."
"Yes?" breathed the girls again.
"Then what did he say?" asked Grace.
"Why, he just got red in the face," replied Mollie, "and said all right then, he'd tell me what the matter was. And then he said"—she laughed a little hysterically—"that he just couldn't stand the thought of my seeing so much of Sergeant Mullins—think of it—me, who have never said two words alone to the man in my life!"
"Well, I never!" Betty exploded, while the usually placid Grace seemed hardly able to keep her seat. "That's almost exactly what Allen said!"
"And Roy, too!" cried Grace dazedly. "Girls, what does it mean?"
"It seems to mean," put in Amy dryly, "that one or all of us are ready for the insane asylum."
"Allen said," Betty contributed, wide-eyed, "that it made him mad to see the way that Sergeant Mullins hung around the Hostess House all the time. He made it quite plain that there was no doubt but what I was the main attraction."
"And Roy thinks it's me," said Grace, her own grammar suffering from excitement. "Goodness! does he think the poor boy is after all of us?"
"Thinks he's going to start a harem, maybe," cried Mollie hysterically. "Oh, dear, isn't it too ridiculous?"
"I suppose," said Amy thoughtfully, "it's because Sergeant Mullins is so awfully good-looking."
"And, of course, he does come around a good deal," added Mollie.
"I know. But that's because he's so lonesome," put in Betty. "And, of course, we have all tried to be nice to him. I think it's horrid," she added, flaring up, "for the boys to act so ridiculously just because he happens to be good-looking and awfully attractive!"
"Oh, Betty, Betty," chided Mollie, wiping a tear—this time of merriment—from her eyes. "If Allen could only hear you now!"
"Nonsense!" retorted Betty, almost snappishly. "There are dozens of boys who come here to tell us their troubles, and I don't see why they have to—"
"Pick on him," finished Grace. "Only you must remember," she added with a twinkle, "that he is much more attractive than most—"
"And he never tells us any troubles either," added Mollie, with a chuckle. "Maybe the boys think that's suspicious."
"Well," said Amy, with a sigh, "I seem to be the only one left out. Nobody thinks it's worth while to quarrel romantically about me."
The girls laughed, and Grace added with a grimace:
"Goodness, you needn't feel bad about it. It was just your luck that you didn't meet Will this morning and tell him the awful news, that's all. I suppose he'd have acted as silly as the rest of them."
"Maybe it's a plant anyway," suggested Mollie dolefully.
"A plant?" queried Betty. "What kind—a flower or a T.N.T. factory?"
"A plot was what I meant," explained Mollie patiently, while the others chuckled.
"A plot!" repeated Grace, with a return of her drawl. "Heavens, Mollie, if there is anything in signs you ought to be a great author some day from the way you're always seeing a plot in everything."
"Thank you, I hope so," said Mollie.
"Well, for goodness' sake get to the point," urged Grace impatiently, glancing at the clock. "We'll have to dress pretty soon, to go down to serve the regular afternoon tea to the soldier boys and their friends."
"Oh, it just occurred to me," Mollie explained, "that perhaps the boys had met some girls in town they liked better than they like us and had gotten up a conspiracy—to—to—quarrel with us—"
"What a brilliant idea!" scoffed Grace. "Especially as the boys have been following us around like Mary's little lamb, and have scared all the other boys away."
"And without being conceited at all," added Amy, with a chuckle, "the girls I've seen around the town really aren't calculated to steal their hearts away."
"In that case, haven't we still got Sergeant Mullins?" chuckled Betty.
They laughed, and Mollie added, as they started to dress for the afternoon:
"I wonder if the boys really expected that we wouldn't go to this special bayonet drill to-morrow—especially when we've been longing to see one for ages—just because Sergeant Mullins invited us?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Betty carelessly. "But it really doesn't matter since we're going anyway!"
It was a beautiful sunshiny day, and the girls felt their spirits soaring happily as they ran down the steps of the Hostess House and started across the parade.
Also the, what appeared to them, foolish objections of the boys to their attending the bayonet drill lent spice to the adventure, and they hurried on gaily over the parade.
Sergeant Mullins, who had unwittingly caused all the excitement, was, as the girls had said, a tall, splendidly built fellow, good looking to an unusual degree, but very silent and reserved.
He had seemed immensely attracted from the first by the girls from the Hostess House, and had made overtures in a half-shy, half-humorous manner that the girls themselves had found very attractive.
But to them he had been only one of many interesting soldier boys who had come and gone and whose meetings and partings with dear ones they had watched with swelling throats and tears in their own eyes.
But Sergeant Mullins was an expert with the bayonet and had been attached to Camp Liberty for the purpose of giving the boys special drills in that work.
He had proved so wonderfully successful that, much to his secret chagrin—for Sergeant Mullins, like all the rest of our brave boys, had dreamed of the great things he would do "over there"—the Government had decided to keep him at Camp Liberty indefinitely.
Then, one day, he had invited the girls, in return for the many little kindnesses they had done him, to attend one of his special, exhibition drills.
They had accepted eagerly, little dreaming of the storm their acceptance would evoke. And it is very doubtful whether, even if they had known, it would have made any difference, for they had long desired just this thing and knew that in years to come they would look back upon it as one of the biggest experiences in their lives.
"What time is it, Amy?" Betty inquired a little anxiously. "I'm afraid we stopped to talk too long to those women who came out to see their nephew, and I don't want to be late."
"We have just a minute to spare," returned Amy, and they quickened their pace.
"Wouldn't it be fun," said Mollie, her eyes sparkling, "if we could only meet the boys? I'd just like to pay them back for being so silly!"
"Maybe they'll be in the drill," drawled Grace hopefully.
"That would be adding insult to injury," Betty chuckled. "Then they never would forgive us."
"I just hate jealous people, anyway," added Grace, diving into her pocket and bringing forth a luscious bonbon which Mollie eyed covetously. "I think it's so ridiculous and narrow, don't you?"
"I think it's a good deal more ridiculous and narrow," grumbled Mollie, still hungrily eyeing the rapidly disappearing chocolate, "to keep all the candies to yourself."
"Oh, goodness! Take one," returned Grace, offering a capacious pocket. "I didn't know you were such a shy and shrinking little violet, Mollie. You usually are perfectly capable of helping yourself."
"Well, not out of your fuzzy old pocket," Mollie retorted ungraciously. "Why didn't you bring the box along?"
Grace eyed her pityingly.
"Wouldn't I look nice," she demanded, "lugging a candy box along to a bayonet drill?"
"I think you'd probably be exceedingly popular," Betty broke in, with a chuckle. "You'd have all the boys around you in earnest."
"And then what would Roy say?" teased Amy. "He'd never speak to poor Grace again."
"Poor Grace, indeed!" sniffed the owner of the name scornfully. "I'd just like to have anybody try to 'poor Grace' me! He'd never do it a second time."
"Goodness, don't look so ferocious, Gracie," Mollie soothed her. "Some one give her another candy—do."
"I'm not a cripple," Grace retorted, evidently in a belligerent mood. "I've always been quite able to help myself."
"So we've noticed," murmured Mollie irrepressibly.
"Will you two please listen to reason?" queried Betty, in her primmest tones.
"Yes, grandma," replied Mollie soberly—which was so ridiculous that even Betty dimpled. "What have we done now?"
"Nothing. It's what you may do," Betty answered, adding, in an explanatory tone: "You see, we are just about to enter the sacred precincts of the drill ground, and it is fitting that we do so with an air of propriety and sobriety."
"Goodness, is she insulting us?" cried Mollie, in mock indignation. "I'll have you know, Miss Nelson, that I, for one, am not intoxicated and, what is more, never expect to be."
"Goodness! that is a relief," sighed Grace, who had been hanging breathlessly on her words. "I thought you were going to say 'I am not drunk, but soon shall be,' or words to that effect—"
"But will you listen?" cried Betty despairingly. "I've got about as much chance of saying anything sensible—"
"As the man in the moon," finished Grace innocently, then, meeting Betty's outraged eye, added hastily: "Oh, wasn't that what you were going to say?"
"No, it wasn't," Betty was beginning, when Mollie, for the first time in her life played the part of peacemaker.
"Go ahead, honey," she interrupted soothingly. "We're all ears."
"Speak for yourself," Grace murmured.
But this time Betty would not yield, and insisted upon being heard.
"Please listen a minute, girls," she begged. "You know we've got a reputation, deserved or not, of being respectable—"
"Oh, what a mistake," interpolated Mollie.
"I said it might be a mistake," Betty continued patiently, although her eyes twinkled. "Anyway, we've got to live up to it—Goodness! just look at the boys. I guess the whole camp must be in the drill."
"Yes, I guess Sergeant Mullins was right when he said it was to be an exhibition drill," agreed Mollie, all fun temporarily swallowed up in a very real admiration of the spectacle before them.
"It's no wonder that Sergeant Mullins is considered a very important personage around here," added Amy.
"Oh, look!" cried Grace, as they sat down upon a convenient bench. "They've started. Oh, girls, I'm glad I came!"
Mutely the girls echoed the sentiment, and for the next hour they sat motionless, eyes and attention glued upon the magnificent spectacle of a thousand men, running, advancing, retreating, attacking, all in obedience to one great plan.
They forgot it was only a sham attack, an imitation battle, an exhibition drill. For the moment a curtain had been lifted and they were permitted to see something of the glory, the passion, the horror of democracy's struggle against the armed autocracy of the world.
When it was over they sighed and came back to the present almost with a shock; so greatly had they been engrossed in the scene.
"Well, Sergeant Mullins may not be much of a talker," were Mollie's first words as they rose to go back, "but he certainly knows how to act!"
"It was wonderful!" breathed Betty, her eyes gleaming. "Just think what it must be to be a man in these times! To be able to fight for one's country!"
"Well, I don't know," said Amy, with a little shudder. "That part of it's all right. But when it comes to being maimed and crippled for life it isn't so much fun."
"Oh, Amy, don't!" cried Grace, clapping her hands to her ears, while Betty continued spiritedly:
"I didn't say it was fun," she cried. "Naturally the boys have to take into consideration the possibility of all that you said, Amy. But there's no glory in the world like giving yourself for a great cause—"
"Hear, hear!" came a masculine voice in applause, and they turned to find Allen and Frank close behind them.
"Well, what will you have?" asked Mollie, eyeing them hostilely. "We thought you were lost and gone forever like Clementine—"
"And were quite reconciled," finished Betty primly, her eyes twinkling.
"Oh, you did, did you?" cried Frank, regarding Mollie's haughtily tip-tilt little nose with mingled fear and admiration. "Well, I'll have you know, young lady, that you can't get rid of us as easily as all that. May I be permitted to walk beside you, mam'selle?"
Mollie sighed and permitted the liberty with an air of great resignation.
In the meanwhile, Allen was whispering into Betty's almost reluctant little ear.
"Did you really mean what you said about its being glorious to give yourself for a great cause?" he asked softly.
"Why, I—g-guess so," she stammered, taken off her guard. "Why?"
"Oh, just because," he answered vaguely, watching the elusive little dimple at the corner of her mouth, "I might want to remind you of it—some day."
The girls awoke one morning several days later—days of routine duty at the Hostess House—with the delightful sensation of something good impending. Crowded as they were in the one big room for Mrs. Sanderson's accommodation, they had formed the habit of talking over their prospective fun before the actual work and hurry and bustle of the day began.
So it was this morning, just after the sun had streamed in through the two big east windows and settled on the tip of Betty's upturned little nose in a most provocative manner.
Sleepily she rubbed a hand across her face, then sneezed.
"Goodness, she's got the 'flu'!" cried Grace in alarm, as she sat up in bed, jerking the covers from her now fully aroused bedfellow. "Amy! Mollie! Get me a gas mask, somebody!"
"I think it's poor Betty that needs the gas mask," retorted Mollie dryly. "I never heard you talk so much this early in the morning since the first day of our acquaintance, Grace. What happened to wake you up?"
Whereupon Betty sneezed again, and Grace jumped about a foot in the bed.
"Please take her away, somebody," she wailed plaintively, while Betty regarded her out of wide and sleep-brilliant eyes. "I heard a doctor say the other day that at the second sneeze it was time to go to the hospital."
"Well, run along," twinkled Betty, adding, with a speculative look: "If you'll wait just about two minutes, I think I can give you another one."
But Grace waited to hear no more. With a bound she was out of the bed and half-way across the room.
"Goodness!" remarked quiet Amy, with a laugh, "I should think it would be almost worth while having the 'flu,' Betty, just to see Gracie move like that."
"Well, I don't know about that," said Betty, rubbing the offending little nose ruefully. "It's easy to talk when it's some one else who's got it. Nobody seems to have any sympathy for me at all."
"We would, dear," cried Mollie, slipping out of her own bed and taking Grace's place beside Betty on the sun-flooded cot, "only you don't really look as though you were dying of anything, you know—especially influenza. Betty dear," she added, with an impulsive little hug, "you do look so pretty!"
"Now she does want a quarter," remarked Grace skeptically, as she took the place Mollie had vacated. "Don't you believe her, Betty Nelson. It's too early in the morning to see straight anyway."
Betty laughed delightedly.
"How very complimentary," she said, with a droll twist to the corner of her mouth. "Never mind, Mollie, it's worth a quarter just for seeing crooked!"
Mollie hugged her, and even Grace had to laugh.
"Which reminds me," continued Betty, apropos of nothing at all, "that we have a whole holiday which we can spend just exactly as we please."
"Yes, where shall we go?" cried Amy eagerly. "I thought maybe we could take Mollie's car and—and—"
Three pairs of curious eyes were focused upon her as she hesitated.
"And what?" they queried in chorus.
"Well, I thought," continued Amy, a little shy, as she always was when about to suggest something for another's comfort, "I thought we might invite Mrs. Sanderson to go along."
"Good for you, Amy dear," cried Betty eagerly. "That's just exactly what I was thinking. The dear old lady seemed so much better yesterday I thought we might persuade her to share our picnic with us. How about it, Mollie?"
"Why, of course," answered the latter heartily, "I'd love to have her—if she'd come."
"If she'd come?" repeated Amy, puzzled. "Why shouldn't she come—that is, if she's feeling strong enough?"
"Well," explained Mollie, with a little smile as she recalled one of the many unusual conversations she had had with the little old woman, "she told me the other day that she 'hated them gasoline wagons worse than poison,'—that the only reason she rode in ours was because she was unconscious when we put her in and she couldn't help herself. And she added somebody'd have to run over her again to make her do it a second time."
Betty laughed gayly as she flung back the covers and slipped out of bed.
"Goodness, I don't wonder you were doubtful," she said. "Maybe she's changed her mind by this time. Anyway, we can ask her and see."
"I think she's the most wonderful old person I ever saw," remarked Amy thoughtfully, as they dressed hastily. "She must be pretty old, and yet she says the funniest, wittiest things, and her eyes sparkle and twinkle like a girl's."
"Well, I really think she looks older than she really is," said Grace slowly and very judicially. "You know working on a farm in the hot sun the way she did for years, isn't calculated to make a person look younger than she is."
"Oh, and if we could only do something to find him for her!" sighed Amy for—the girls did not know whether it was the fiftieth or the hundredth time, they had given up counting.
"Well, wishing won't accomplish anything," said Mollie practically, as she vigorously pulled on a shoe as if it were in some mysterious way responsible for the unsatisfactory state of affairs. "I think some one ought to nickname us the 'four Dianas.'"
"Well, of course Diana was very beautiful," said Grace, complacently regarding her own pretty reflection in the mirror. "But if you meant that, Mollie, of course the description applies to only one of us."
"Goose," remarked Mollie. "Of course I wasn't thinking of Diana's beauty. I was merely thinking of her in the role of a fair huntress."
"Goodness, now she is insulting us!" cried Betty, turning upon her friend with a melodramatic frown. "Do you mean to imply that one or all of us are huntresses?"
"Not of men," said Mollie scathingly. "That shows a guilty conscience, Betty. I'm surprised at you."
"O-oh! Squelched!" said Betty meekly. "May I ask," she added very humbly, "just what you did mean?"
"I simply meant," explained Mollie patiently, "that we were after two men—"
"Oh!" cried Amy, turning upon her in horror. "And you just told Betty you didn't mean that!"
"I didn't," cried the badgered Mollie in desperation, then turned away in disgust. "There's no use trying to tell you anything," she said.
"Go ahead, Mollie dear," urged Betty.
"I meant," Mollie continued slightly, but only slightly, mollified, "that we were hunting two men—Mrs. Sanderson's Willie and the motorcyclist who ran her down. And we haven't any more real chance of finding them than—"
"A celluloid dog has chasing an asbestos cat in—" began Grace.
"That will do," cried Betty primly, though her eyes danced. "After this, you will kindly answer when you are spoken to, Miss Ford, and at no other time."
"Oh, is that so?" mocked Grace. "Well, I'll just tell you, Miss Nelson, that although I am extremely fond of you—mistaken as that may be—I will take no dictation from you or any one else."
"I'll give you more than dictation, if you don't stop maundering," threatened Mollie. "A girl has about as much chance of saying anything sensible—"
"Did you ever try?" queried Grace innocently, and Betty and Amy had to form a human barrier between the two enemies.
"Goodness, please don't kill her, Mollie," begged the Little Captain, her eyes twinkling. "Not till after breakfast, anyway. I want to give you a chance to think it over."
"Yes, they're punishing murderers terribly," added Amy. "I heard Major Adams say—"
"All right," Mollie agreed, "I'll let her off until after breakfast, but for one reason and one only—"
"And that?" they queried breathlessly.
"I'll be stronger then!" she said.
But it seems that breakfast "hath charms to sooth the savage breast," for after Mollie had attacked and conquered the appetizing fruit and cereal, ham and eggs, she seemed to forget all about her dire threat and smiled amiably at her intended victim across the table.
"How long will it take you to get ready, Grace?" she inquired. "Can you do it while Betty and I go around to the garage and back out the car?"
"Let Amy help you with the car this time," Betty objected before Grace could reply. "I want to ask Mrs. Sanderson to go with us."
Mollie clapped her hand over her mouth in a gesture of dismay.
"Goodness," she reproached herself, "I almost forgot about her. Yes, go ahead Betty and do your best to get her. I know it would do her good. But you had better take Amy with you to help persuade Mrs. Sanderson. Amy and you together are a pair that will be hard to refuse. There goes Mr. Bretton now! He's so grateful for what we girls have done for him here—as though it were anything at all—that he'd do far more than help get the car ready. I'll get his help, while you and Amy go for Mrs. Sanderson and Grace gets ready. Now, rush! hurry! fly! off with you!"
Mollie ran out of the house and after the young soldier whose help she sought. Grace went to her room for some last-minute dressing, and Amy and Betty went upstairs to importune Mrs. Sanderson.
"Well, good morning, my dears," said the old woman, delighted at sight of their bright faces. "I declare, if you don't bring all the sunshine in with you! It is lovely of you to call on an old woman so early in the morning."
"Well, you see," said Betty, eagerly diving right into the middle of her subject. "We've come to kidnap you. Please, won't you let us?"
"Kidnap me," repeated the old lady, patting the soft cheek with a puzzled air. "Why, it seems to me sort of unusual to ask a body if you can kidnap 'em."
Betty laughed.
"Well, I guess maybe it is," she admitted gayly. "But, you see, we can't very well do it without asking you. Mollie said," she added, taking the little lady's hand in hers and squeezing it affectionately, "that you told her the only way we could get you to do it was to make you unconscious again. And," she finished, with an adorable little coaxing smile, "we couldn't do that, you know. We're altogether too fond of you."
Mrs. Sanderson laughed and pinched her cheek.
"Very well, honey," she chuckled. "Now if you'll tell me what it's all about—"
"We want you to go on a picnic with us," broke in Amy.
"A picnic!" repeated the old lady, more puzzled than before. "What sort of picnic?"
"An automobile picnic," explained Betty, adding quickly as she saw refusal in the bright old eyes. "Oh, please don't say 'no' yet. We've got the whole day off, and we're going to take Mollie's car and go off all by ourselves and eat our lunch and admire the view and—"
"Taste gasoline for a week after," finished the old lady with a little grimace. Then she added quickly, as she saw the hurt look in Betty's bright face: "No, I didn't exactly mean that, dear, and I wouldn't say anything to make you feel bad for worlds, that I wouldn't, only—I jest can't bring myself to ride in those automobiles. You see," there was an almost pathetic appeal for understanding in the bright old eyes, "I guess I'm maybe too old to change my ways, an' I get tired easy—"
"I'll tell you what we'll do," Amy intervened with rare tact. "Some day when we're going for just a little ride around the block we'll ask you again. Maybe you'll feel more like it then, and you can get used to it by degrees."
"That's awfully nice of you, dearie," said the old woman, looking gratefully from one bright face to the other. "I suppose you don't know how much I appreciate all you've done for me," she added, her voice breaking a little, "'cause I never could tell you if I lived for a hundred years. But you just sort o' revived my faith in human nature. Since my boy went away—" The old voice broke down entirely then, and Betty continued patting her hand soothingly,
"But there," she added, in a different tone, wiping her eyes determinedly and smiling at them, "this ain't no kind of a mornin' for tears, an' I know my son Willie would be the first one to tell me so.
"Thank you jest as much for askin' me, dearies, and maybe some other time I'll get my courage up to it. But now you jest run along an' enjoy yourselves.
"An' when you come back," she added, taking both of the soft young hands in her wrinkled one and patting them gently, "you can come up an' tell me all about it."
"Oh, will you let us?" asked Betty eagerly, jumping up and dropping a kiss, light as thistle-down, upon the old face. "And we'll bring you flowers, whole bunches of them. Will you promise to be happy while we're gone?"
"Yes, dearie, just happy thinking of your coming back and the flowers," she agreed, and the smile remained on her lips even after the door closed behind them until the sound of their light footsteps and laughter faded away.
Then the brave lips drooped and the gray head went down upon her arms.
"They're such lovely little ladies," she murmured to herself. "An' I will try to be happy. Only—I want my boy, my little son—my baby—"
Meanwhile—
"Isn't she the dearest thing?" asked Amy of Betty as they went into the kitchen to gather up the picnic baskets. "I'm getting so fond of her it will just hurt like everything to have her go away."
"Go away? Oh, Amy!" cried the Little Captain in surprise, facing her as though that possibility had not yet entered her mind.
"Why, yes," repeated Amy, astonished at Betty's amazement. "She's almost well now, and, of course, she's too independent to want to stay here when she's all right again. Why, Betty, what's the matter?"
For Betty had sunk down in one of the kitchen chairs and was regarding her tragically.
"But, Amy, she mustn't go away," she argued weakly, knowing that she really had no argument at all. "Why, I really can't imagine it! I—I never thought—"
"Well, of course, none of us wants her to," Amy admitted, adding reasonably: "But I really don't see how we're going to stop her if she makes up her mind to go. Do you?"
Betty picked up one of the hampers and they walked slowly back through the hall to the front porch.
"Why no, not exactly," she said thoughtfully, then added, with a sudden gleam in her eyes: "Unless—unless—"
"Unless what?" queried Amy breathlessly.
"Oh, I don't know whether you'd call it an idea or just plain foolishness," answered Betty, striving to speak carelessly. "I was just thinking that we might persuade her to stay longer on the plea that we wanted to bring the motorcyclist to justice and needed her identification."
Amy looked a little disappointed.
"Well, I don't know," she said doubtfully. "She said the other day that she didn't care much about bringing the fellow to justice. She said one motorcyclist was as bad as another, and the only thing that would give her satisfaction would be 'to arrest the whole tribe o' them.'"
Betty laughed a little at the characteristic remark, but her eyes were troubled.
"Well," she said with a sigh, "I suppose you're right. She is rather hard to reason with at times. If only I could think of something."
The sharp toot of a horn as Mollie grazed the curb with the huge touring car put an end to the conversation for the time being. Grace was already on the porch, and as they raced down the steps the girls' spirits rose happily.
After all, it was a perfect summer day, the sun shone brilliantly down upon them, the wind caressed their faces, and, above all, they were young.
It was not till they were several miles out upon the shining road that Betty once more thought of Mrs. Sanderson.
"We might," she said thoughtfully, as though speaking to herself, "tell her that we were trying to find her son. That might have some effect upon her."
"Upon whom?" asked Mollie, nearly running the car into a tree by the roadside in an effort to get a glimpse of Betty.
"Oh, Mollie, do be careful," cried Amy plaintively. "I never come out with you but what I expect to be killed."
"I should think you'd be tired expecting by this time," returned Mollie practically. "Now will you please repeat that somewhat meaningless jumble of words, Betty dear? What was it—something about somebody's son having a good effect upon somebody—"
"Well, I hope you feel better, now that you've gotten it out of your system," drawled Grace. "Now, Betty, go on. I'll keep her quiet with chocolates till you've had your say."
"Go on talking all night, will you, Betty dear?" entreated Mollie, speaking thickly because of a mouthful of chocolate. "Home was never—" But here Grace inserted another bonbon so deftly that Mollie choked and almost precipitated another appalling accident.
"For goodness sakes, hurry, Betty!" cried Amy, in dismay. "If you don't, there won't be anything of us left to listen to you."
"Well," said Betty obediently, for she had been so busy with her own thoughts that half the persiflage and gay bantering had passed above her head, "I was speaking of Mrs. Sanderson and her son. I thought that if we told her we were trying to find her Willie, she might consent to stay on with us a little longer."
"But wouldn't that be rather raising false hopes?" objected Grace. "We haven't very much chance of really making such a promise good, you know."
"Well, but if we tried hard enough we might think of something," Betty insisted. "We might," she added vaguely, "We might—advertise—"
"In what?" queried Amy.
"The papers, of course," Betty answered impatiently.
"Well," said Mollie, chewing down the last bit of chocolate and speaking thoughtfully, "there may be something in your idea, at that, Betty. I don't know about the others, but I'm with you, anyway."
"Doesn't it seem funny," Amy was saying as she daintily but thoroughly gnawed a chicken bone, "not to have the boys with us?"
"Well I think," returned Mollie, her nose at an independent angle, "that it's mighty nice—for a change."
"Yes," Grace agreed, employing her paper napkin to remedy the damage done by a vivid spot of jelly on her skirt. "They seem to think they can dictate to us. Imagine it! To us! Outdoor girls who have never known what it was to take dictation from any one!"
"Except our Daddies," Betty broke in, her eyes twinkling. "I've seen even you stand at attention, Gracie dear, when Mr. Ford spoke."
"Oh well, of course," said Grace, dismissing the interruption with a wave of her hand. "We've got to obey our parents, till we're twenty-one anyway."
"Then I guess we've got to go on obeying all the rest of our lives," said Mollie, with a sigh.
They looked at her curiously.
"For who," she went on to explain reasonably, "in her right senses is going to admit to being twenty-one?"
"To finish what I was saying," Grace continued, while Betty and Amy chuckled and Mollie looked wide-eyed and innocent: "I, for one, will never take dictation from any one outside the home folks—especially mere boys our own age,"
"Well, no one asked you to," said Mollie calmly. "I really don't see what all the speech-making's about," she added.
"It was about the boys," said Amy, mumbling over her third piece of chicken.
"And by the way they take it for granted we've got to do what they say," finished Grace.
"Well," said Betty, plucking a piece of grass and rolling it thoughtfully between her fingers, "don't you think perhaps they act that way because they're going 'across' so soon?"
"I don't see what that's got to do with it," returned Mollie, puzzled. "I should think that would make them want to be especially nice to us—leave a good impression, you know."
"Just the same I can't help thinking," Betty persisted, "that that was why they acted so queerly about Sergeant Mullins. Maybe they think that when they're several thousand miles away the other boys will have their chance."
"But that's silly," objected Mollie. "As if we wouldn't think a good deal more of them when they get over there."
"Distance lends enchantment?" queried Grace, with lifted eyebrows.
"Goose," commented Mollie.
"Goodness," cried Grace plaintively, "that's the second time I've been called a goose in the last five minutes. Pretty soon I'll be a whole flock of them!"
The girls laughed, and Mollie said with aggravating condescension:
"It's hard sometimes to tell the truth, Grace dear, but we only do it for your own good. That's what friendship is for, you know."
"Then give me enemies!" cried Grace. "I don't care how many faults I have if people just won't tell me about them."
"Which reminds me of something," said Mollie with a chuckle.
"Well, don't tell us about it," said Grace hastily. "I'm trying hard to love you, Mollie, but I can't stand everything—"
"Oh, but it's a joke on me this time," Mollie reassured her, and Grace sat back with a sigh of relief.
"It happened while we were at Pine Island," Mollie continued with a chuckle. "I was sitting in the living room playing the piano—"
"Or trying to?" interrupted Grace.
"Or trying to," agreed Mollie with perfect good-nature. "You know my repertoire consists of two pieces, and I was humming one of them as I played.
"Frank and Roy were sitting on the steps of the porch outside and I heard Frank say to Roy very earnestly:
"'Do you know, I think Mollie would have a wonderful voice if she would only have it cultivated.'"
"Goodness, I thought—" began Grace, but the Little Captain very hastily pinched her into silence.
"Evidently they thought I couldn't hear them," Mollie continued. "But they were mistaken, for I heard Roy answer pityingly, 'Say, old man, I've heard of love being blind before, but here's a case where the poor little god is deaf.'"
"Mollie," cried Amy, shocked, while the others laughed merrily, "what did Frank say? Did he stand for that?"
"Most decidedly not," chuckled Mollie. "The last I saw of them, Frank was leaping a fence, hanging on to Roy's coat tails. It was awfully funny. I think I laughed for an hour afterward,"
"It was a wonder there was enough of poor Roy left to come home," giggled Betty. "Frank isn't what you might call gentle, when his temper is roused."
"Oh, I believe I know when that was now!" exclaimed Grace, with sudden animation. "It must have been that evening when I was baking biscuits and I looked out of the window and saw Roy. He looked like a tramp, hair all disheveled and face as red as a beat.
"I called to him and asked him if he'd been in a fight or something, and he just got redder than ever and backed off into the woods.
"I concluded he'd gone suddenly and violently insane, and as the aroma of nearly burned biscuits filled the air I promptly forgot all about him."
Mollie chuckled.
"There was probably a very good reason for his backing off," she said. "I shouldn't wonder if after that he kept his meditations to himself."
"Yes," said Grace, with gentle malice, "I've long since concluded that it's better to keep still about personal matters, no matter what you think."
"Well, perhaps you have," said gentle Amy with sudden spirit: "But I must say I never noticed it."
Grace struck a dramatic attitude.
"And you too, Amy?" she cried. "Ah, this is too much—"
"Yes, it's all right, dear," soothed Betty, hastily rescuing a basket. "But please don't step on the lunch. These baskets cost four dollars and ninety-eight cents at a bargain sale."
"Oh, how sordid of you, Betty," chuckled Mollie. "As if Grace cared for a mere little five-dollar bill."
"Goodness, I don't know whether I do or not," remarked Grace plaintively. "It's so long since I've seen one I can't tell."
"As Allen remarks," laughed Betty, as she gathered up the remains of the lunch, "'money must think you're dead.'"
They laughed at her, and then suddenly Betty changed the subject.
"You know, I overheard something the other day," she said, "that's just made me terribly blue whenever I've let myself think of it."
"Oh, Betty," gasped Mollie, jumping unerringly to the catastrophe they had been dreading all these months, "do you mean the boys have got their orders?"
"Oh, no, I don't actually know a thing," Betty hastened to assure her, but there was a brilliant light of excitement in her eyes that did not reassure the girls.
"Then what do you mean?" cried Mollie impatiently. "Oh, Betty dear, I just haven't realized how awful it will be until this minute. When, those boys have actually gone, I'll lie down and die, that's all."
"Well, for goodness sake, don't tell them that," beseeched Grace. "Then they will think they can dictate."
"Well, let 'em," said Mollie recklessly. "They can, for all I care."
"Go on, Betty, do," urged Amy, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously. "Tell us what it was you heard."
"Well, Major Adams was talking with the colonel," Betty complied, her color bright, "and I just happened to catch a couple of phrases as I passed.
"'In a week!' the major was saying eagerly. 'The boys will be glad of that, Colonel. I've had all I could do to keep them pacified at all. Once let them get at the Huns and it will be all over but the shouting.'
"'Yes, they're a fine bunch of young fighters,' the colonel answered. And, oh girls, I wish you could have seen the way he looked, so splendidly straight and martial and proud. 'I tell you, Major,' he said, 'it's a great thing to have the leadership of such lads as those. They're the pick of the nation.'
"And then I went on and my heart was beating so hard I had to hold on to it," Betty finished. "It seemed to me I could almost hear the cannon and see the boys—our boys—"
Her voice trailed off into silence, and for a long time no one spoke. Each one of these young girls, who, a few short months before, had scarcely known the meaning of the word war except as they had read about it in their histories, was striving desperately to visualize the battle front—the trenches, great guns belching forth a deadly hail of shells, the roar of cannon, the moans of dying men—
And there, perhaps, in the mire and horror of it all—the boys—their boys—