Boulogne, and in the noise and confusion of the big station Mr. Leslie insisted on Lucy’s getting down with him for something to eat. It was a hurried meal, taken among a crowd of traveling officers and soldiers, for the train made only a short stop.

“A quarter of our journey is over,” Mr. Leslie told her, trying to put a little hopeful encouragement into his voice, when they had started on their way again.

Only a day ago, Lucy thought, as head on hand she stared out at the flowery meadows, while the train continued its slow way south, this journey had held for her all that was marvelous and unobtainable. In fancy she had made it more than once, with quickening breath and beating heart. To be in France—heroic France—nearing the very field over which Bob had flown so boldly, the land where the hard-pressed Allies stood undaunted. But now she no longer looked with pleasure at that lovely landscape outside the window. She was in a strange, far country; America was thousands of watery miles away, and her father lay wounded—alone, and wanting her. The train seemed a cruel tyrant as it lagged along, and she saw nothing but her father’s face, then her mother’s, tired and despairing, from where she vainly sought to reach him.

It was after a long morning’s travel that Mr. Leslie pointed out the majestic walls of Amiens Cathedral above the distant town. Lucy nodded silently, her eyes upon the noble beauty of it, but her mind wandering eastward beyond. The noise of the guns, until now merged into one muffled roar, seemed all at once to break apart into a hundred mighty voices. Overpowered with a terrible sense of dread she clasped Mr. Leslie’s hand for comfort, and felt it close over hers with a kind, understanding pressure.

“Are we almost there?” she asked faintly.

“Only an hour more, when we’ve passed Amiens,” was the hopeful answer. “Then a short ride in whatever we can find to pick us up, and we’ll be in the town. It’s Château-Plessis—taken from the Boches only two days ago—so communications are at loose ends just now. Hold on a little longer, dear—you’ve been such a trump all day.”

Lucy nodded dully, half deafened by the guns.

They were crashing out in one tremendous thundering volley, till the tearing din struck on Lucy’s ears and made them ring and tingle, while she shrank back more than once as from a blow, when two hours later they entered the paved streets of Château-Plessis. The motor-lorry, which had made a difficult 

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