“No, just ashamed. I ran away. My mother’s a peach. She really is.”

“Go back and sign up. Get into uniform, then breeze back home. You’ll make a hit.”

“Well, I—”

He broke short off to leap sideways, take three flying steps, then swing his arm to knock something from a stranger’s hand. Without knowing why, Mary followed on the run. It was lucky that she did, for the angry man flashed a knife. He slashed at the boy once and drew blood. His second blow, better aimed, might have been fatal had not Mary done a flying leap to knock his arm high in the air and send the knife flying away.

Instantly they were surrounded by soldiers. The youth and the man were seized. Two soldiers stepped toward Mary.

“What eez zis all about?” one asked.

“I—I really don’t know,” was her faltering answer.

The soldier looked at her in astonishment. “You might have been keeled. Now you say, ‘I know nothing.’”

“It’s a fact for all that.” She smiled in spite of herself. “I—I do things like that sometimes.”

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” the boy broke in, holding up a bloody arm. “That man,” he pointed to the stranger, “is a spy. He was taking pictures of that big plane. That’s an American plane and I’m an American. He can’t get by with that!”

“Good for you!” The words were on Mary’s lips. She did not say them. Instead she bent down and picked up something black that gave off a bright gleam. “He’s telling the truth,” she said in as quiet a tone as she could command. “Here’s the proof, his camera. That boy knocked it from his hand.”

“It’s a lie!” the man snarled. “I never saw the thing before!”

“It’s one of those costly miniature cameras,” Mary went on. “It takes a hundred pictures as easy as firing a machine gun. And sometimes it’s twice as deadly.” She handed it to the soldier. “Have the film developed. The pictures will speak for themselves.”

“It’s a lie,” the man growled, trying to break away.

“He calls himself Joe Stevens now,” said the boy, swabbing his bleeding arm with a soiled handkerchief. “I 

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