bent down to catch her words.

“Yes, there is, and don’t stop for one moment thinking it,” was his swift answer, as he looked at Lucy with keen, honest eyes. “There’s more of a chance since you talked with him than since he was wounded. There’s a tide in the succession of weary pain-racked days when nature needs hope and nothing else to keep up the battle, and, by Jove, you plucky little girl, you brought it!”

“I won’t cry again,” thought Lucy, fighting for self-control. She clenched her hands together with all her strength, while a solitary tear dropped down upon them. Major Greyson saw her struggle and, prompted by a heavy burst of firing from the French and American batteries in front of Château-Plessis, began to speak of the town’s capture.

“Things are still in poor shape here—hospitals and everything. You see, we’ve been in possession only since Tuesday,” he said, glancing about the little garden, cluttered with fallen stones and rubbish, to where, through a gap in the battered wall, the half-ruined street showed beyond. “We had a hard fight to get it but, strangely enough, in spite of the heavy bombardment, the place wasn’t deserted. Some of the inhabitants have simply stuck it out, German occupation and all. It takes a lot to drive these poor French people from their homes.”

“But weren’t lots of them killed?” asked Lucy, amazed.

“Not those who hid in their houses at the further end of the town. It was the poor refugees trying to get out of the place between bombardments who suffered most. We are doing all we can for them. Mr. Leslie has worked night and day, I’m certain, since the opening of this last offensive.”

“But aren’t the German lines still very near? The guns sound almost on top of us,” said Lucy, her voice grown scared and trembling again as a thunderous explosion hurt her ears.

“Oh, their lines are more than five miles away. Those are our guns that sound so close,” said Major Greyson reassuringly. He glanced over Lucy’s shoulder as he spoke, and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Good for you, Miss Pearse,” he said. “That’s just exactly what she needs. Here’s your breakfast and luncheon, Lucy, rolled into one.”

A young Red Cross nurse, with brown hair curling beneath her veil, and lips that smiled a pleasant welcome at the little newcomer, came quickly up with a full tray, which she set down upon the bench.

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