quay.

“France!” flashed across Lucy’s tired mind, with even then a thrill, as slowly her eyes wandered over the varied crowd of officers and men, French, British and Americans, intent on landing and getting their effects ashore, while stores were lowered after them onto the docks. American soldiers in campaign hats not yet exchanged for the steel helmets, French guards with vigilant eyes on everything around them, British officers and Tommies, with here and there a big Highlander in kilt and bonnet—all hurried about their business, shouting what must be said in tones loud enough to rise above the clamor, to which the continuous firing from the front made a dull rumble of accompaniment.

It was a wonderful picture, but it all seemed strange and indistinct to Lucy at that moment. Her mind was too oppressed with grief to have a keen realization of what was going on around her. Mechanically she followed her cousin’s lead, and found herself in a motor-bus bound for the Calais station. Half a dozen English and as many American officers shared the crowded seats. The Americans were strangers to her, and she was glad of it.

The ride was short, and then, after an hour’s wait, they were on board a train again, still crowded in with soldiers and war workers. Mr. Leslie urged Lucy to try to sleep a little, but she could not. The guns were like thunder in the first mutter of an approaching storm, and they were nearing the storm every moment. About her sounded shouting voices as the slow train moved on, with frequent jolting stops and whistled signals.

Beyond the windows a lovely spring sun shone down on the French fields and orchards, and as the train followed the French coast line toward Boulogne, her tired eyes brightened at sight of the lovely scene unfolding on every side.

Here was France unconquered, undespoiled, still in the beauty of its springtime, as in the days of peace. The guns pounded at its doors and troop-trains passed and repassed endlessly to its defense through a world of green meadows and apple blossoms. Women and children thronged the fields, hard at work cultivating the ripening crops. They stopped to wave friendly greetings to the soldiers in the train. Near every red-roofed farmhouse grew a little orchard, laden with pink and fragrant-smelling blossoms. Through the open windows Lucy caught whiffs of the sweet air, and, closing her eyes a moment, could not believe she was nearing the great battle-field.

After an hour they left the countryside behind to enter 

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