"Yes, it was terribly interesting toward the last," she went on, "although I don't believe even then we were in great danger. General Alexis is too wise to have permitted that. Everything was in readiness; all the plans were made days beforehand for our getting away. The different regiments of private soldiers with their officers continued to march away from Grovno, and so much ammunition was moved that I think almost no stores of any value were left. Then the moment finally came for our own retreat."

To Barbara's intense irritation, Mildred actually paused for an instant at this point in her story. But she continued almost immediately.

"There was an underground passage outside the fort, leading all the way to the river. The seven of us at last left the fort together. By this time General Alexis had almost to be carried, the pain from his wound had grown so intense. Then every once in a while, as we went on, one of the soldiers would place a bomb in such a position that it would explode after we had gone. In this way the underground passage was wrecked, so there never was any possibility of the Germans being able to follow us. When we reached the bridge over the river two motor cars were waiting for us. Colonel Feodorovitch, one of the lieutenants and the two private soldiers stayed to see that the last bridge over the Styr was blown up. The other five, General Alexis, his physician, and one officer and we two women started west in an effort to join the retreating regiments, who were to come up with a portion of the Grand Duke's army."

"Goodness, Mildred Thornton, what an experience you have been through!" Nona ejaculated. "Yet you talk as quietly as if it were almost an ordinary occurrence!"

Mildred shook her head. "It is not because I feel it an ordinary experience, Nona, but because so much has happened I am overpowered by the bigness of it. Really, when we got safely away from the fort, the battle, or at least my share in it, was only about to begin. We had gone a few miles into the country, when General Alexis became desperately ill. Unless he could have immediate attention his physician said there was no possible hope for his life."

Barbara had by this time slipped out of her chair and was sitting on the floor with her hands clasped over her knees, looking all eyes, and rocking herself slowly back and forward as a relief for her excitement.

"But you brought your general back with you, Mildred Thornton, or you said you did. How on earth did you manage about him?" she interrupted.

"That is just what I am going to tell you, because that explains where I have been and why I have not been able to let you hear from me. Our Russian doctor ordered our motor car stopped and we entered a Russian house some distance from any main road. We purposely chose a house that had been deserted, and there we have been for two weeks, struggling to save the life of General Alexis. Of course, his wound had been more serious than he would admit. The wonder is that he is still alive!"

"But he has recovered?" Barbara inquired with her usual unsatisfied curiosity. "Goodness, Mill, what a heroine you will be, to have nursed one of the most famous generals in the Allied armies and to have restored him to health. Won't your mother be charmed!"

Naturally Mildred smiled. The thought of her mother's pleasure in her distinction had occurred to her several times in the last two weeks.

"Oh, of course I am glad to have had the honor, Bab, because I too think General Alexis a great man. He is perhaps the simplest man I have ever known, except my father, and I like him very much. Only he has not recovered and I have not restored him to health. If General Alexis had recovered he would never have come to Petrograd, he would have rejoined his troops. But he was well enough to be moved and Petrograd seemed the safest place for him at present. Besides, I believe he wished to have an audience with the Czar."

Barbara again rocked back and forth. "You say 'Czar,' Mill, just as if you were speaking of an everyday person. Really, I believe you are the best bred girl I ever saw. Position, wealth, no distinctions seem to excite you. You just take people for exactly what they are," Barbara murmured, in reality speaking to herself.

But Nona overheard her. "You are quite right, Bab," she agreed. "Mildred does not know it, but she has taught me many a lesson on that subject since we came to Europe. It would be a nicer world if everybody thought and acted as Mildred does. But what has become of your general, Mill? Are you to go on nursing him or to see him again?"

"No, to the first question, Nona dear, and yes, to the second. Now I am so tired I simply must go to bed. I told the doctor and General Alexis that since he was better, I wanted to come to you. Besides, I was sure that here in Petrograd there would be so many cleverer nurses than I can ever hope to be. And I didn't want to stay at the Winter Palace with you girls here."

"You mean," Nona asked quietly, "that you were invited to be a guest at the Czar's own palace and you declined?"

Mildred clasped her hands behind her head. "Oh, I thought I told you. General Alexis is to be at the Winter Palace while he is in Petrograd. He is very close to the Czar, I believe. As his nurse, of course I was asked to stay there with him; he is to have his physician and his aides as well as his servants in attendance. There was nothing personal in my being permitted inside the Palace. Some other nurse will take my place."

"But the point is, Mildred Thornton, that you refused to stay under the same roof with the Czar of all the Russias. Never so long as you live will your mother forgive you."

The other girl flushed and laughed. "I hadn't thought of that, Bab dear. Please don't tell on me. But we are to be under the same roof with the Czar some day for a few moments, all of us. General Alexis said that he wished to have us presented to the Czar and Czarina, if it were possible to arrange. He seems to feel grateful to me for the little I was able to do. But please, Bab, don't say that I refused to continue to nurse General Alexis. I only asked that they get some one to take my place, who would be wiser."

"Did General Alexis agree to a new nurse for that reason, Mildred?" Barbara demanded in her driest manner.

But Mildred was too tired for further conversation.

"Oh, he was kind enough to say that I needed a rest more than he required my services. Am I to have a bed or the cot in this sitting room?"

"You may have them all, Mildred Thornton!" Barbara returned, getting up on her feet and then bowing until her forehead almost touched the floor.

"Any human being who is going to allow me to enter the presence of the Czar and Czarina, has got to be treated like royalty for the rest of her life."

Nevertheless, Barbara kissed Mildred good night. Mildred whispered, "Don't be a goose," and then at last was permitted to retire.



CHAPTER XV

The Winter Palace

The next day Nona found opportunity for confiding to Mildred the fate of Sonya Valesky. She found Mildred more deeply concerned than Barbara had been. This was true because Mildred had a different nature; it was easier for her to understand a temperament that would sacrifice everything to its dream, than for the more practical and sensible Barbara. Moreover, Barbara was so much in love these days that she found it difficult to give a great deal of thought to other people. She struggled against the tendency, but it is ever the vice of lovers.

Finally, on Thursday, Mildred Thornton received a note from General Alexis inviting her and her two friends to come that afternoon at four o'clock to the Winter Palace. And although the three girls were Americans, they understood that such an invitation was not in reality an invitation, but a command. For the Czar and Czarina had announced that they would be pleased to meet the three American Red Cross nurses.

The meeting was to be informal, as these were war times and there were no court levees. Indeed, the Czar was only staying for a brief time at his palace before going to take command of his own troops. Owing to the frequent Russian defeats in the past few months, the Czar had concluded that he must command his men in person in order to give them greater courage and steadfastness. The munitions of war, of which they had been sadly in need for several months, were now pouring in from Japan and the United States.

Of course, in the excitement and nervousness due to such an important and unexpected occasion, the three Red Cross girls had the same problem to settle that attacks all women at critical moments:

"What on earth should they wear to the presentation?"

Fortunately, under the circumstances there was but one answer to this question. They were invited to the Palace as Red Cross nurses, they must therefore wear their Red Cross uniforms. Since the three girls had almost nothing else left in their wardrobes, this was just as well. Constant moving from place to place, with little opportunity for transportation, had reduced their luggage to the most limited amounts.

Yet assuredly they were as handsome and far more dignified on the afternoon of their appearance at the Winter Palace in the costumes of American Red Cross nurses, than if they had been appareled in the court trains and feathers of more gala occasions.

Mildred always looked especially well in her uniform. She was less pretty than the other two girls. But for this very reason her dignity and the sense of serenity that her personality suggested showed to best advantage in the simple toilette of white with the Red Cross insignia on the arm. However, over her uniform Mildred wore the magnificent sable coat in which she had appeared at her friends' lodgings in Petrograd.

This afternoon, in spite of her excitement over what lay ahead of them, Barbara did not allow the coat to pass unnoticed a second time.

"For goodness' sake, Mildred, where did you get that magnificent garment?" she demanded, just as they were about to go downstairs to get into their sleigh. "You owned a very nice coat when we left you behind in Grovno, but some fairy wand must have changed it. This is the most wonderful sable I ever saw."

Mildred flushed and then laid her cheek against the beautiful, soft brown warmth of her furs. "It is time you and Nona were speaking of my grandeur," she declared. "You see, in getting away from the fort at the last I stupidly left my own furs behind; indeed, I don't know what became of them. General Alexis noticed that I was cold almost immediately. Somehow, after he began to get stronger, he managed to have this coat brought to the country house where we were staying. Then just before we started to Petrograd he presented it to me. Of course, I did not feel that I ought to accept it and insisted I could not. But General Alexis said that he had received so much kindness from me, he thought it very ungenerous of me to make him altogether my debtor. I didn't know what to do. Do you think it wrong to accept it, Bab? Somehow I did not know how to continue to refuse."

As Barbara was just going into her bedroom at this moment, she made no reply. Nona was more reassuring.

"Of course it was all right, Mildred, or at least I suppose it was if General Alexis insisted, and you had done a great deal for him."

Then Nona followed Barbara. Barbara was standing perfectly still in the center of the room and apparently thinking with all the concentration possible.

"I wonder if this General Alexis is more fond of Mildred than he would be of any nurse who might have cared for him?" Barbara murmured. Then she shook her head. "That was an absurd suggestion on my part and Mildred would not like it. I am sorry," she said.

At the door of the Winter Palace, after the girls had passed beyond the servants and the detectives who watch every human being permitted to approach their Imperial Majesties, the three American girls were ushered into a reception room. Except for the fact that there were more paintings on the walls, the room resembled other similar chambers now left on exhibition at Versailles or the Louvre in Paris.

However, the girls had little time for investigation, for almost at once General Alexis entered the room to greet them. He was accompanied by a lieutenant who was his aide. To Nona Davis' surprise, the young man proved to be Lieutenant Michael Orlaff, whom she had not seen since the afternoon when she had walked to the fortress with him and confided the news of Sonya Valesky's arrest.

After a few moments of general conversation a man servant, wearing an elaborate uniform, announced that General Alexis and his guests might walk into the Czar's private sitting room.

Naturally this was a very unusual proceeding, but war times had changed the manners of courts as well as other places. Moreover, General Alexis was a personal friend of the Czar's, so far as a Czar may ever have a friend. In any case, he was one of his most trusted generals. This reception to the American Red Cross girls was entirely due to the fact that General Alexis had declared Mildred Thornton's courage and devotion had saved his life. But of this she was not yet aware.

The Czar and Czarina were not decorating gilded thrones as one sees them in portraits or paints them in one's own imagination. Indeed, they were seated in chairs, but rose as any other host and hostess might when their guests came into the room. They were not alone, however, for beside the guards stationed outside their door, two of them kept always within a short distance of the Czar himself.

The Czarina was a beautiful woman, tall and dark, but looking infinitely sad. The girls could not but remember having heard how frequently she suffered from a melancholia so severe that it was almost akin to an unbalanced mind.

She now murmured a few words to the three girls and then reseated herself. Barbara hoped profoundly that the distinguished audience would soon be over. Of course, this meeting of the Czar and Czarina was perhaps the most extraordinary honor that had yet been paid to any American Red Cross nurses in Europe. But like other honors, it carried its discomfort. For Barbara had not the faintest idea what she should do or say, when she should stand up and when sit down. She had never imagined herself a large person before, but now she felt so awkward that she might have been a giant. Yet really there was but one thing for her to do: she must merely keep still and watch what was taking place.

Actually the Czar, Nicholas II, was talking pleasantly with Mildred Thornton, and Mildred was answering with her usual quiet dignity.

The Czar looked older than Barbara would have supposed from his pictures. But then the war may have aged him. His close-cropped brown beard with the tiny point was turning gray. And he had large, full and, Barbara thought, not particularly intelligent eyes.

At this moment he moved toward a small table and picked up what appeared like a medal.

Barbara eyed it curiously. She could not hear what the Czar was saying. But she saw Mildred turn suddenly white and appear to protest. Then the two men, General Alexis and the Czar, actually smiled at her. The next moment the Czar pinned a cross on Mildred's white dress.

Without realizing what she was doing, Barbara pressed closer until she stood in front of Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff. This time she distinctly heard the Czar say:

"I take pleasure in presenting you, Miss Thornton, with the Cross of St. George, which is only awarded for special bravery. Only one other woman has been presented with the Cross of St. George since the outbreak of this war. She is Madame Kokavtseva, a colonel of the Sixth Ural Cossack Regiment, who has twice been wounded while leading her men. She is called our 'Russian Joan of Arc.' But there is a courage as great as leading troops to battle. This valor, it seems to me, you showed in remaining to the last at the ancient fortress of Grovno to care for a great soldier who was not even your countryman. In my own name and in the name of my country, I wish to thank you for your service to General Alexis."

Then Barbara observed Mildred flush a beautiful, warm crimson, and stammer something in response. Almost immediately after they were again standing outside in the big antechamber.

Afterwards General Alexis and Lieutenant Orlaff and several of the palace servants showed the three girls over certain portions of the palace that could be exhibited to visitors. On the desk in the hall was an ikon, carefully preserved under glass, which was said to have been painted by St. Luke.

However, in spite of their honors, as soon as possible the three girls were glad to return to their lodgings. Yet Mildred promised that they would allow General Alexis to send his sleigh to them the following day. The great general looked haggard and worn, but appeared to be quickly recovering his strength. Indeed, Barbara afterwards assured Mildred that she considered him extremely good looking and not half so old as she had supposed.



CHAPTER XVI

The Unexpected Happens

One afternoon a short time after the visit to the Winter Palace, General Alexis and Lieutenant Orlaff came to the girls' lodgings to have a drive in the sleigh with them.

It was a cold, brilliant afternoon, and they were to undertake a more interesting excursion than usual. Nevertheless, Barbara Meade refused to go.

There were letters which she must write, she pleaded. However, this was not Barbara's real reason: that fact she kept in her own head. Both Mildred and Nona she assisted to get ready, insisting that they both dress as warmly as possible, no matter how stuffy they might feel before starting.

"You are both blondes and a blonde is never so homely as when she is cold," she added sententiously, "for her face is much more apt to get blue than red, except the end of her nose."

Mildred had purchased a lovely fur hat to match her sable coat. And in spite of her poverty Nona had been unable to resist a set of black fox. Furs were so much cheaper in Russia than in the United States that it really almost seemed one's duty to buy them.

When General Alexis' sleigh arrived, Barbara would not even go downstairs to see the others start. But she managed by pressing her nose against the window to observe that the arrangements for the drive were satisfactory.

The sleigh was a beautiful one, built of mahogany, and the pair of horses wore real silver mountings on their harness.

A driver, in the Imperial livery, sat upon the front seat with a man beside him, who acted as a private guard for General Alexis, although he wore citizen's clothes. There was far less danger of anarchy in Russia during war times; nevertheless, men in public positions in Russia were always watchful of trouble from fanatics.

Therefore, General Alexis and Mildred were together in the middle seat, while Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff occupied the one back of them.

Then the sleigh started off so quickly that it had disappeared before Barbara realized it. Afterwards, with feminine inconsistency, she turned back into their small sitting room, frowning and sighing.

"I do wish I had gone along, after all. There wasn't any place for me, except to sit either between Mildred and General Alexis, or Nona and her Russian lieutenant. Then nobody would have had a good time. Still, perhaps I should have stuck close to Mildred; she is almost my sister. And though Mrs. Thornton might be pleased, Judge Thornton and Dick would be wretched. Russia is so far away and so cold."

Then Barbara made no further explanation, even to herself, of her enigmatic state of mind, but fell to writing letters as she had planned. Some thought she devoted to what she should write Dick about his sister's friend, the distinguished Russian general. But whatever she planned sounded either too pointed or else had no point at all. So she merely closed her letter by explaining that the others had gone for a ride and that General Alexis appeared extremely grateful to Mildred for her care of him in his illness. She also mentioned that she personally liked the distinguished soldier very much and that he was not nearly so foreign as one might expect.

This was not a sensible statement, for General Alexis could scarcely have been more of a Russian than he was. A foreigner, of course, simply is an individual who belongs to another country than one's own. Presumably an American is equally a foreigner to a European. What Barbara actually meant was that General Alexis was not unlike the men to whom she had been accustomed in the United States. He had the courtesy and quiet dignity of the most distinguished of her own countrymen. There was nothing particularly oriental about him or his attitude to women. The truth is that Barbara did not appreciate the fact that General Alexis was too cosmopolitan to show many of the peculiarities of his race. He had seen too much of the world and studied and thought too deeply. Besides, he was a man of real gentleness and simplicity.

As Mildred rode beside him, she too was wondering why she felt so at ease with so great a person. Why, at home, in New York society, she had always been awkward and tongue-tied with the most ordinary young man worthy of no thought. Now she was telling General Alexis the entire story of Sonya Valesky as she might have told it to her own father. And she felt equally sure of his sympathy and understanding. General Alexis would, of course, have no political sympathy with Sonya's ideas. He was a soldier devoted to his Czar and his country, while in his opinion Sonya could only be regarded as mistaken and dangerous. But Mildred knew that he would be sorry for Sonya, the woman, and sorry for them as her friends.

So she described their original meeting on board the "Philadelphia," and the suspicion, then wrongfully directed against Sonya, who was at that time using the name of Lady Dorian. Afterwards she told of Sonya's appearance at the Sacred Heart Hospital and her work there. Last of all, of their unexpected coming together in Russia and of the peculiar bond between Nona Davis and the Russian woman.

At the beginning of her conversation with General Alexis, Mildred had no idea in mind, except to tell the story that had been weighing heavily upon her since Nona's confidence. Ever since she had seen the picture of Sonya, as Nona had last seen her, the beautiful woman with her too-soon white hair and the haunting beauty of her tragic blue eyes. She, a woman of rare refinement and not yet forty, to spend the rest of her life working among the convicts in Siberia. It was as if she were buried alive!

Suddenly it occurred to Mildred that she might ask the advice of General Alexis. She did not believe it possible that anything could be done for Sonya Valesky now, after her sentence had been passed. But still it would be well to feel they had tried all that was possible.

"You don't think, General, that there is anything that could be done to have Sonya Valesky pardoned, do you?" she inquired, with unconscious wistfulness. "You see, my friend, Nona Davis, wants so much to take Madame Valesky back to the United States with her. Then neither she nor her ideas would be of any more danger to Russia. Nona says Madame Valesky is much broken by her illness and confinement. She had a terrible attack of fever only a short time before. Probably she won't live very long, if she is taken to Siberia."

Then, to hide her tears from her companion, Mildred turned her head aside. General Alexis seemed to be staring at her very steadfastly. But fortunately the beauty of the landscape surrounding them gave her an excuse for the movement.

They had crossed the Nicholas bridge and were driving out among the parks and estates that cover the small islands, set like jewels among the white fastness of the river Neva. Here and there the river was solid ice, in other places the thin ice was decorated with a light coating of snow.

The handsome private homes of Petrograd are situated in these island suburbs. Beautiful trees and lawns come down to the water's edge. But today they too were snow sprinkled and most of the homes were closed.

Mildred attempted to pretend that her attention had been attracted by one of these houses, built like a glorified Swiss chalet.

But General Alexis continued to gaze at the side of her cheek and Mildred was painfully conscious that the tears might at any moment slide out of her eyes.

"You care very much about this woman, this Sonya Valesky, Miss Thornton?" General Alexis inquired. "You say that she is a friend of yours and that it will bring you great distress if she must suffer the penalty of her mistakes? I do not wish you to leave Russia in unhappiness."

Mildred slowly shook her head. Had she been almost any other girl, she would have seen nothing to deny in her companion's last speech. But Mildred had the spirit of entire truthfulness that belongs to only a few natures.

"No, I cannot say that Madame Valesky is exactly my friend," she answered slowly. "I do not know her very well, but I think I should care for her a great deal if we could know each other better. Perhaps she was altogether wrong; anyhow, I do not think she should have attempted to persuade the Russians not to fight for their country at a time like this. Yet when one has seen the horrible, the almost useless suffering that I have seen in these few years I have been acting as a Red Cross nurse, well, one can hardly condemn a human being who believes in peace. Still, Madame Valesky is in reality more Nona's friend than mine."

Pausing abruptly, Mildred again turned her face to look at the soldier beside her. She had been tactless as usual in thus expressing her feelings about peace to a man who was a great warrior. But General Alexis did not appear angry. Indeed, there was no disagreement in the expression of his eyes, it was almost as if he too felt as Mildred did. Besides, his next words were:

"I too appreciate what you feel, Miss Thornton, and I too am sorry for this Sonya Valesky. War is a great, a terrible evil, and there was never a time when the world so realized it as it does now. It is my hourly prayer that, after this vast bloodshed, war shall vanish from the face of the earth. But this will not happen if we give up the fight while we are in the thick of it. So Madame Valesky was wrong, so wrong that I might think she deserved her fate, if I did not feel her more mistaken than wicked."

General Alexis paused and his face grew suddenly lined and thoughtful, as Mildred had seen it in those days at Grovno. Of what he was thinking the girl did not dream, but neither would she wish to have intruded upon his train of thought.

So she sat quite still with her hands folded under the heavy fur rug and her gray-blue eyes fastened on the snow-covered landscape. Mildred had grown handsomer since her coming to Europe. She would never be beautiful in the ordinary acceptance of the term. But she was the type of girl who becomes handsomer as she grows older, when character which makes the real beauty of a woman's face had a chance to reveal itself. Already a great deal of her awkwardness and angularity had disappeared with the self-confidence, or rather more the self-forgetfulness which her work had given her. Her eyes had a deeper, less unsatisfied expression and her always handsome mouth more humor. For her own experiences and the friendship with the three other American Red Cross nurses had taught her to see many things in truer proportion.

"Miss Thornton," Mildred's attention was again aroused by her companion, "I want to tell you something, but I want you to promise me you will not have too much hope in consequence. I have been thinking of this Sonya Valesky. I believe I can remember her father, or if not her father himself, at least I knew him by reputation. He did not share his daughter's views, but was the faithful servant of the present Czar's father. Moreover, the Czar is my friend, so I mean to tell him the story of Sonya Valesky and see if he will pardon her. She must, of course, leave Russia, perhaps never to return."

General Alexis had been in a measure thinking aloud. But now Mildred's sudden exclamation of happiness made his eyes soften into a look of kindliness that again reminded the girl of her father.

"But, my child, you must not hope too much," he remonstrated. "The Czar may not feel as I do about your friend. After your service to me there is little you could desire which I would not wish to give you."

One would never have thought of General Alexis as a great soldier at this moment. The heavy lines of his face had gone. There was no sternness about his mouth. His eyes, which were so surprisingly blue because of his other dark coloring, gazed at Mildred's until for an instant she dropped the lids over her own, feeling embarrassed without exactly knowing why.

The next moment she looked directly at the man, whom she felt sure was her friend, in spite of the differences in their ages, their rank and their countries.

"General Alexis, I am going to ask you to do me a favor—no, I don't mean about Sonya this time. I shall be more grateful than I can even try to say for that kindness. But this is something which does not concern anyone except just you and me. Will you never in the future speak or think of the service which you are good enough to say I have rendered you." Actually, Mildred was now twisting her hands together in the old nervous fashion which she thought she had overcome. "It is difficult for me to say things," she went on, "but I want you to know that the greatest honor I shall ever have in my life was the privilege of nursing you. If I did help make you well, why I am so happy and proud the favor is on my side and not yours." And Mildred ended with a slight gasp, feeling her cheeks burning in spite of the cold, so unaccustomed was she to making long speeches or to revealing her emotions.

"Miss Thornton," General Alexis returned. Then instead of finishing his sentence he leaned over and touched his coachman.

"Stop the sleigh for a moment. We are growing cold. It will be better for us to walk for ten or fifteen minutes and then come back to the sleigh." Again he spoke to Mildred.

"You will come with me for a little?" he asked. "It will be wiser for you not to grow stiff with sitting still." Afterwards he said something to Lieutenant Orlaff, to which he and Nona agreed.

Five minutes later Mildred was walking across the snow toward the river, with her hand resting on General Alexis' arm. She was colder than she had imagined and it was difficult to walk over the icy and unfamiliar ground.

But suddenly she stopped and gave an exclamation of surprise and delight which was almost one of awe.

She and General Alexis were alone. Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff had walked off in an opposite direction. But Mildred now beheld the sun setting upon the Russian capital. Beneath, the world was pure white, and above, the sky a glory of orange and purple and rose. Between the two, suspended like giant fairy balls, were the great domes of Petrograd's many churches.

"I shall never, never forget that picture so long as I live. It will stay with me as my vision of Petrograd long after I have gone home to my own country," Mildred said simply. Then she stopped in her walk and held out her hand. "Thank you for this afternoon."

General Alexis did not release the girl's hand. Instead he lifted it to his lips and kissed it, although the hand was covered with a heavy glove.

Then he smiled at Mildred almost boyishly. "I want to say something to you, Miss Thornton, which I suppose a woman does not really mind hearing, no matter to what country she belongs or what her answer may be. In these weeks I have known you I have come to care for you very deeply. I am old enough perhaps to be your father. I have said this to myself a hundred times and that it ought to make my feeling impossible. It has not. Naturally I understand that my age may make it impossible for you to return my affection, but it has not made the difference with me. I love you, Mildred. I have known many women, but have never met one so fine and sweet as you. It is the custom of your country when a man cares for a woman to tell her so, is it not, or perhaps I should have written first to your father?"

General Alexis' manner was so naive, almost as if he had been a boy instead of one of the most distinguished men in Europe. Mildred could almost have smiled if she had not been so overwhelmed by his speech.

Was General Alexis actually saying that he was in love with her? No one had ever proposed to her in her life and she had never expected that any one would care sufficiently. But that the words should come from the man whom she felt to be a genius and a hero! No wonder Mildred was speechless for a moment.

"General Alexis, I have never dreamed of anything like this. I only hoped at the most that you were my friend," she answered a little later. "Really, I don't know—I can't say how I feel. I appreciate the honor, but Russia is so far away, and my father——"

"Yes, I know," General Alexis interrupted. "Do you not suppose I have thought over all those things? Until this war is past I shall not even ask you to become my wife. My life belongs to my country and I would not have you alone here in a foreign land. All I ask is that I may write you and some day in happier times may I come to see my American friend?"

Mildred could only nod and let General Alexis keep tight hold of her hand, while a sense of the warmth and sweetness of the affection of a big nature slowly enveloped her.

Then, as they walked back to the sleigh in silence and continued in silence almost all the way back to the lodgings, Mildred could only keep thinking how much her father would like General Alexis. Once she smiled, because her next thought was how immensely pleased and impressed her mother would be. It seemed impossible that the plain and unattractive Mildred could have captured so distinguished an admirer.

Late that night, as she lay awake, Nona Davis' voice suddenly broke the stillness. The two girls were in the single bedroom, Barbara occupying a lounge in the sitting room.

"There is something I want to tell you, Mildred. The strangest thing happened to me this afternoon. Lieutenant Orlaff proposed to me. Why, I scarcely know him at all, but he says that is not necessary when a foreigner meets an American girl," Nona confided.

"You—why, Nona!" Mildred faltered, too surprised for the moment to answer intelligently, because her friend's speech so oddly fitted into her own thoughts. "Did you accept him?"

It was dark in the room, and yet Mildred could see that Nona had risen half way up in bed.

"My gracious, no!" she ejaculated. "In the first place, I don't care for him at all, and in the second, I just want to get hold of my dear Sonya and return home to the United States. If your general does have her pardoned I shall say prayers for him every night of my life. Funny, but I believe I am afraid of Russia, even though I am half Russian. Still, my mother did prefer to come to America to live. I simply couldn't bear living in Russia always, could you, Mildred?" Nona ended, as she again dropped back on her pillow.

But Mildred only answered, "I don't know," which was not in the least conclusive.



CHAPTER XVII

The Departure

Four days later the three American girls left Petrograd. This was sooner than they had expected to leave, but a desirable opportunity arose for them to get safely across the continent and into France.

The journey was a long and tiresome one, as they had to cross the northern countries of Finland, Sweden and Norway until finally they were able to reach Holland, and thence journey to England and France. But it was not possible to make the trip in any other way, since all of southern Europe was engaged in active fighting.

However, the Red Cross girls did not travel alone. Sonya Valesky went with them. At General Alexis' request the Czar had pardoned her, but she was an exile from Russia forever, never to return at any future time.

Fortunately for the imprisoned woman, her reprieve had come before her sentence had time to be carried out. She was brought directly from the prison, where Nona had once visited her, to the lodgings where the American girls were making ready to depart.

If Sonya regretted the terms of her pardon, she showed no signs of sorrow. But she was strangely quiet then and during the long, cold trip across the continent. In a measure she seemed to have been crushed by the weeks of solitary confinement in the Russian jail with the prospect of Siberia ever before her. Often she would sit for hours with her hands crossed in her lap and her eyes staring out the window, without seeming to see anything in the landscape. One could scarcely imagine her as a woman who had devoted her life to traveling from one land to another, trying to persuade men and women to believe in universal peace.

Yet she was sincerely grateful and appreciative of any attention of affection from the three American girls who were her companions. And after a short time Barbara and Mildred were almost as completely under the spell of this grave woman's charm, as Nona had grown to be. Moreover, the girls felt that she had not yet recovered from her illness, because of the hardships following it. After a few weeks or months in the beloved "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door" perhaps she would become more cheerful.

For it was toward the chateau country of France that the three American girls were again traveling. The little house where they had once lived for a winter had been Captain Castaigne's wedding gift to Eugenia. Since Eugenia was away nursing in a hospital she had offered her home to her friends. Madame Castaigne had also insisted that they come to her at the chateau; nevertheless, the girls had chosen the farmhouse.

The Countess was no longer young, and still had no servants save old Francois. The work of entertaining four guests, and one of them a stranger, would have put too great a tax upon her. Moreover, Eugenia would undoubtedly come back for a while to be with her friends and would naturally stay with her mother-in-law. The girls also hoped that Captain Castaigne might be spared for a short leave of absence. However, in order that the Countess Amelie should not be wounded, or feel that the girls no longer cared to be with her, Barbara had written to say that she would stay at the chateau whenever the Countess wished her society.

Certainly the trip from Russia into France during war times was a difficult one. The girls believed that they could not have made it, except that now and then they stopped for a day or more to rest. On these days Barbara and Nona used to spend at least a few hours in sightseeing, no matter what their fatigue. Now and then Mildred would go with them, but never Sonya. Occasionally Nona would urge her, saying that the exercise and change of atmosphere would be good for her. But Sonya used always to plead fatigue or a lack of interest. Finally she confessed frankly that she had seen most of these cities and countries before, and in some of them was fairly well known. Therefore it might be safer and happier for all of them if she remained quietly in whatever hotel they happened to be staying.

Yet Sonya appeared almost as anxious as her three companions to reach France and the "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door." This, of course, was because the three girls had talked of it so continuously and the longed for meeting with Eugenia again. For somehow, although the farmhouse was in a war-stained country, its name suggested quiet and a brooding peace.

Nevertheless, several times, after mentioning Eugenia's name, Nona had observed Sonya's face flush and the expression of her eyes become almost apologetic. At first she was unable to understand this and then she remembered.

In the early days Eugenia had not liked their friendship with the woman who was then calling herself Lady Dorian. Indeed, in Eugenia fashion she had frankly stated this fact to the older woman. Now how much less might she care for their intimacy with the exiled Russian. Yet Sonya was going as an uninvited guest to Eugenia's home.

There had been no time to ask permission. It was true Barbara had written the entire story to Eugenia as soon as Sonya Valesky was released from prison. But one could not tell whether the letter would reach France as soon as the four travelers.

Nona felt that she would have given a great deal to have assured Sonya of Eugenia's welcome, but she was nervous over the situation herself.

Of course, Eugenia would be kind to the exiled woman and offer her hospitality and care. But Eugenia had rigid views of life and was not given to concealing them. It was more than possible that she might let Sonya know of her disapproval. Moreover, she might object to Nona's own championship of Sonya and to her purpose to return with her to the United States and there make their future home together.

Of course, no views of Eugenia's would interfere with this intention of Nona's. But the younger girl would be sorry of Eugenia's disapproval, since she too had learned to have the greatest affection and admiration for the oldest of the four American Red Cross girls. However, there was nothing to do except to wait and meet the situation when the time came.

Actually it was a month between the day of leaving Petrograd and the day when the four travelers arrived in southern France in the neighborhood of the Chateau d'Amelie. But this was because the girls and Sonya had spent some little time in London before attempting to cross the channel.

London was a delightful experience for the three American Red Cross girls. In some fashion the story of their varied service to the Allied cause had reached the London newspapers. For several days there were columns devoted to their praise. Later, invitations poured in upon them from every direction. Mildred was most conspicuous, since the story of her presentation by the Czar with the Cross of St. George was copied from the Russian newspapers into the English, and must have ultimately reached the United States press.

But the girls were not thinking of themselves or their work. They simply gave themselves up to the pleasure of meeting delightful English people and being entertained by them. Sonya would not go about with them, but appeared stronger and more content, so there was no point in worrying over her.

One of the English women, who was again gracious to the three American girls, was the Countess of Sussex, at whose home they had spent a week-end on their first arrival in England several years before. Once more she invited them to her country home, but this time it was impossible for the girls to accept her invitation. However, Nona recalled her meeting in the old rose garden near the gardener's cottage with Lieutenant Robert Hume. She also thought of Lieutenant Hume's last letter telling her that he had been sent back to England as an exchanged prisoner because of his health. But when Nona inquired for the young English lieutenant, the Countess' expression checked further curiosity.

Suddenly she appeared very unhappy and distressed.

"Robert is not in England," she said hastily. "He has been sent away to try to recover, but we do not dare hope too much."

At the moment Nona did not feel that she had the courage to ask where the young man had gone nor from what he was trying to recover.

Actually it was one afternoon in late February, when the three Red Cross girls and Sonya came at last to the village of Le Pretre, near the forest of the same name.

There they found old Francois awaiting them in a carriage that must have belonged to the Second Empire. It was toward twilight and on a February afternoon, yet after the cold of the northern countries where the girls had been for the past winter, the atmosphere had the appeal of spring. It was not warm, yet there was a gentleness in the air and a suggestion of green on the bare branches of the trees.

Francois drove them in state to the little "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door." But this afternoon the door was standing open and on the threshold was Madame, the Countess, with both white hands extended in welcome.

She wore the same black dress and the same point of lace over her white hair. And by her side stood Monsieur Le Duc, more solemn and splendid than ever and as gravely welcoming of his guests as the Countess herself.

Madame explained that Eugenia had been unable to leave the hospital to be at home to greet her friends, but hoped to see them in a few days. In the meantime they were to feel more than welcome in the farmhouse and in the old chateau, when they cared to come to her there.

Then the Countess said good-by and allowed Francois to take her home. She knew that her guests were weary and her courtesy was too perfect to permit herself the privilege of a longer conversation, no matter how much she might be yearning for companionship.

The little house itself was warm and light with welcome. There was a fire in the living room and the four beds upstairs smelled of lavender and roses.

The girls took their old rooms, except that Sonya was allotted the bedroom that had once been Eugenia's.



CHAPTER XVIII

A Poem and a Conversation

Not the next day, but the one following, Barbara and Mildred walked over to the old chateau together.

Nona did not go with them, as Sonya did not appear to be well and she did not wish to leave her. So she sent a message of explanation to the Countess Amelie, saying that she hoped to be able to call upon her very soon.

It chanced that Sonya did not know of Nona's decision. She was lying down when the girls went away and believed she had the little house to herself. Really she was not ill, only tired and perhaps happier than she had been in a long time. It is true that she had confessed herself defeated and that there was no longer any illusion in her own mind. Perhaps so long as she lived, war and not peace would flourish upon the earth. But the world learns its lessons in strange and dreadful ways and perchance peace might be born in the end from the horror and waste of bloodshed.

By and by, when she felt more rested, Sonya got up and went down into the old dining room of the farmhouse, which the girls had made into their living room. There was a possibility that the fire might be dying out and it would be wise to replenish it.

To her surprise Sonya discovered Nona curled up in a chair by the window, reading.

The older woman no longer wore black; it had become too depressing in a continent where more than half of the women were in mourning. She had on a simple frock of a curious Russian blue, made almost like a monk's cowl, with a heavy blue cord knotted about her waist.

Nona stared at her friend for a moment in silence. It was curious that whatever costume Sonya Valesky wore seemed to have been created for her. Nona recalled the beauty of her clothes in their first meeting on shipboard, yet they held no greater distinction than this simple dress. Well, perhaps personality is the strongest force in the world and Sonya Valesky's distinction, whatever her mistakes, lay in this.

She now walked across the room and put a few of Francois' precious pine logs on the fire.

At this Nona stirred. "Don't trouble to do that, Sonya; I meant to in another minute. I thought you were ill upstairs."

Sonya shook her head. "I am not in the least ill and you are please to stop worrying about me, Nona. I thought you had gone with your friends to the chateau. What has kept you at home?"

The younger girl answered vaguely, not caring to confess her real motive, since her companion would have been distressed by it.

"If you are all right, Sonya, suppose you stay down here in the living room with me. I have just found a wonderful poem in an American magazine which I meant to save to read to you. Somehow I think it may comfort you. For it shows that there is a big design in this old universe, which works itself out somehow, in spite of all the tragedies and failures of human beings."

In a big chair in the half shadow Sonya sat down, folding her hands together loosely in her lap. It was a fashion which had come to be almost a habit with her recently. Curious that it should express a kind of resignation!

Nona began reading at once. "The poem is called 'At the Last' and is by George Sterling, a Californian, I believe.

"Now steel-hoofed War is loosened on the world, With rapine and destruction, as the smoke From ashen farm and city soils the sky. Earth reeks. The camp is where the vineyard was. The flocks are gone. The rains are on the hearth, And trampled Europe knows the winter near. Orchards go down. Home and cathedral fall In ruin, and the blackened provinces Reach on to drear horizons. Soon the snow Shall cover all, and soon be stained with red, A quagmire and a shambles, and ere long Shall cold and hunger dice for helpless lives. So man gone mad, despoils the gentle earth And wages war on beauty and on good.

"And yet I know how brief the reign shall be Of Desolation. But a little while, And time shall heal the desecrated lands, The quenchless fire of life shall take its own, The waters of renewal spring again. Quiet shall come, a flood of verdure clothe The fields misused. The vine and tree once more Shall bloom beside the trench, and humble roofs Cover again the cradle and the bed. Yea! Life shall have her way with us, until The past is dim with legend, and the days That now in nightmare brood upon the world Shall fold themselves in purples of romance, The peace shall come, so sure as ripples end And crystalline tranquillity returns Above a pebble cast into a pool."

When Nona had finished neither she nor her companion made any comment for a moment.

Yet when the girl looked across at the older woman for her opinion, she discovered that Sonya's cheeks had flushed and that her eyes were shining.

"Thank you, Nona; I shall not forget that," she then said, repeating to herself, "'The peace shall come, so sure as ripples end.' I suppose the trouble is we have not faith and patience enough to believe that love and peace must triumph before God's plan can be worked out."

Then Sonya got up. "Come, Nona," she suggested. "Don't you think it would be more agreeable to take a walk. It is really a lovely afternoon and I've some things I wish to talk to you about. Besides, I want to see the woods you girls have told me of."

It was delicious outdoors and Nona and Sonya both forgot their serious mood of a little while before. One could not be always serious even in war times in so lovely a land as southern France. No wonder the French nation is gay; it is their method of showing their gratitude for the country that gave them birth.

Finally the woman and girl reached the pool in the woods which Nona had once named "the pool of Melisande," and Eugenia had afterwards called "the pool of truth." However, since in Maeterlinck's play Melisande was seeking the light in the depth of the water, perhaps after all the two titles had almost a similar meaning.

Anyhow, by the pool Sonya chose to make a confession.

"Do you remember, Nona, once long ago, or perhaps it just seems a long time to me, you and I met a Colonel Dalton, an officer in the British army whom I had known before. I think I promised then to tell you of my previous acquaintance with him. I had almost forgotten."

Nona slipped her arm through her companion's.

"Don't tell me if you had rather not. We will both have a great deal to learn of each other when we go back to the United States to live together."

Sonya smiled. "There is no use waiting. I have never even told you, Nona, whether or not I am married. You see, I am often called Madame Valesky in Russia, but that is only a courtesy title. I have never married. The fact is, I once lived in England for some time and was engaged to Colonel Dalton. I think we cared a good deal for each other, but he was a soldier and we did not approve of each other's views of life. So by and by our engagement was broken off, which was probably the best thing for us both."

"Has Colonel Dalton ever married?" Nona inquired inconsequentially.

Her companion shook her head. "Really, I don't know. Suppose we walk on now to the hut where your little French girl Nicolete once lived."

When the two friends reached the hut, Nona Davis exclaimed in amazement:

"What on earth has happened? Why, our hut isn't a hut any longer; it is a charming little house with some one living in it. I am going to knock and see who it can be. French people are so courteous, I am sure they won't mind telling me."

Nona knocked and the next moment the door was opened by a young French woman. For an instant they stared at each other, then kissed in a bewilderingly friendly fashion.

"Why, Nicolete, I can't believe my own eyes!" Nona protested. "What are you doing back here in your own little house, only it is so changed that I would scarcely have recognized it."

Nicolete's dark eyes shone and the vivid color flooded her face.

"I am married," she explained. "You remember Monsieur Renay, whom Mademoiselle Barbara named 'Monsieur Bebe?' Well," Nicolete laughed bewitchingly, "he is my husband."

"And is he——" Nona asked and hesitated.

Nicolete shook her head. "He can tell the light from the darkness, and now and then can see me moving in the shadow. Some day, the doctors say, his sight may be fully restored. He has seen the best specialists. Madame Eugenie sent us both to Paris. She it was who made us a home here in the woods out of the old hut, so that my husband might have the fresh air and grow strong to aid his recovery."

"Madame Eugenie," it was a pretty title and one that Eugenia would probably always have in this French country, which had so long known the old Countess as Madame Castaigne.

When Barbara and Mildred returned from the chateau Nona sincerely hoped they would bring news of Eugenia's arrival, since she was growing more than anxious to see her again.



CHAPTER XIX

The Reunion

In truth, Barbara and Mildred were having a delightful afternoon at the Chateau d'Amelie.

When they arrived, solemnly Francois invited them into the old French drawing room they so well remembered.

But here, instead of the slender, tiny figure of the old Countess appearing to greet them, a tall, dark young woman came forward, whose hair was wound about her head like a coronet.

"Eugenia!" Barbara exclaimed, and straightway shed several tears, while Eugenia and Mildred laughed at her.

Then the three girls went over and sat down on the same Louis XIV sofa that two of them had once occupied with young Captain Castaigne, on their first visit to the chateau.

This time Eugenia took the place of honor in the center, while each hand clasped one of her companions.

"Henri and I arrived just an hour ago," she explained. "He found he could get a three days leave to come with me. Of course, I wished to rush off to the farmhouse before I even got my traveling things off. But since I am a much managed woman these days, I was made to wait until you came here. I have been expecting you every minute. Now tell me about Nona and Madame Valesky."

This time it was Barbara who laughed. The idea of Eugenia's being managed instead of managing other people was amusing. Besides, it was unlike her to talk so fast and ask so many questions without giving one time to reply.

So Barbara only held closer to her friend's hand and looked at her, leaving Mildred the opportunity for answering.

It was still early in the afternoon and the sunshine flooded the beautiful drawing room. It was strange to see how at home Eugenia seemed to look and feel in it, when a little more than a year before she and the old room had been so antagonistic.

Eugenia had changed. In the first place, she wore this afternoon a lovely costume of violet crepe, trimmed in old gold brocade. It was a costume that must have been specially designed for Eugenia, so perfectly did it suit her rather stately beauty and dark, clear coloring. This turned out to be true, since Eugenia a short time before had discovered a little French dressmaker, whom the war had rendered penniless, and given her work to do.

Now, even while Mildred was talking of Nona and Sonya, the drawing room door opened and Captain Castaigne and his mother came in.

Monsieur Le Duc accompanied them, but promptly deserted his former master and mistress and padded over to Eugenia, placing his great silver head on her lap and gazing at her with adoration.

Captain Castaigne and his mother followed to greet their guests. In his hand the young officer carried a number of letters which he gave at once to Barbara and Mildred.

"These just arrived at the chateau for you; they are American letters and so I am sure you will be pleased."

Mildred's were from her mother and father and Barbara had received three from Dick in this same mail, and another which looked as if it might be the long-expected letter from Mrs. Thornton.

After ten minutes of conversation, it was Captain Castaigne who proposed that their guests might be allowed to read their letters without waiting to return home. It was not difficult to guess at their impatience, since it must have been a long time since they had heard from home.

Then he and Eugenia crossed over to the other side of the room and stood by the fireplace. Le Duc went with them and Eugenia kept one hand on the dog's head.

Now and then she smiled over something Captain Castaigne said to her, then again she looked at him with the anxious gravity that was a part of Eugenia's character. The war had made the young French officer older, love and marriage had apparently taken ten years from Eugenia's age. Plainly a beautiful understanding existed between the husband and wife, in spite of the differences in their natures, which would survive to the end.

For when Captain Castaigne suddenly lifted his wife's hand and kissed it, it was like Eugenia to blush and whisper a protest, at which the young officer only laughed.

Over by the window Barbara and Mildred were really too busy with their letters to notice what was taking place. Madame Castaigne had gone out of the room for the instant to speak to Francois.

Of course, Barbara had read Dick's letters first. She could only read them hastily, for Dick had written to say that he had a fine position with a big real estate office in New York City, and enough salary for two persons to live upon, in a tiny apartment on the west side. Barbara was to come home at once, else Dick would probably lose his job by deserting to fetch her. Also the letter from Mrs. Thornton was cheering. Whatever it may have been, something had occurred to change that lady's state of mind. Perhaps it was her anxiety about Mildred in the days when she knew nothing of her daughter's fate except that Mildred had stayed behind at Grovno until the hour of the final surrender of the Russian fort.

For Mrs. Thornton had written to Barbara to say that she would be most happy to welcome her as Dick's wife, and the dearest wish of her heart was to have her two daughters safe at home in New York City as soon as they were able to return.

Mildred's letters were much of the same character, and the two girls had only barely finished them when Francois appeared bearing coffee and cakes.

Then the little party talked on until nearly dusk.

At last, when Barbara and Mildred felt compelled to leave, Eugenia proposed that she and Captain Castaigne walk over to the farmhouse with them. She did not feel that she could wait for another day before seeing Nona.

Nona and Sonya had just been in a few moments and taken off their wraps when the others arrived. And Nona need have felt no nervousness over Eugenia's attitude toward Sonya. Many things had happened to broaden Eugenia's point of view since her arrival in Europe to act as a Red Cross nurse. Besides, few persons could fail to feel anything but sympathy and admiration for the beautiful Russian woman, whose life had come so near closing in tragedy.

There was not a great deal of food at the farmhouse, nevertheless Eugenia and Captain Castaigne remained to dinner.

Barbara and Mildred retired to act as cooks, while Eugenia and Sonya fell to talking together, and Nona and Captain Castaigne.

In the course of their talk Nona remembered to inquire for Lieutenant Hume, who was Captain Castaigne's friend. At last she might be able to hear real news of the young British officer.

By good fortune Captain Castaigne had received a letter written by him in the same post that had brought Barbara's and Mildred's letters.

"Lieutenant Hume had gone to the United States and was living at the present time in Florida. He had appeared to have contracted a fatal illness during his imprisonment, but his letter had said he was feeling ever so much better.

"I can't say how glad I am," Captain Castaigne continued. "There was never a braver fellow in the world than Robert Hume. And besides, if he should happen to die just now, it would be particularly hard on his family. You see, Hume's older brother, the one with the title, has just been killed in the Dardanelles. Robert Hume is Lord Hume now, I believe, and the English think more of titles than we do in Republican France," the French officer concluded.

"But I thought," Nona commented stupidly, "that Lieutenant Hume was a gardener's son and had been educated by friends who were interested in him."

Then Nona stopped, because Captain Castaigne was half smiling and half frowning over her information. Moreover, Nona suddenly remembered that what she was saying was founded partly on information and the rest on her own fancy.

"Lieutenant Hume told me he was the gardener's son," she protested, "or at least he called the gardener's wife 'Mother Susan.'"

Eugenia had suddenly spoken her husband's name and Captain Castaigne had gotten up to go over to her.

However, he stopped long enough to expostulate. "That was an extraordinary idea of yours, Miss Davis. Hume was only talking of his old nurse. His mother died when he was a baby and she brought him up. I have heard him speak of 'Mother Susan' myself. The Countess you visited in Surrey is a cousin of Hume's, I think, and the old nurse and her husband live there. Hume was having Mother Susan nurse him when you met, I expect. Hope you two may see each other some day in the United States and laugh over that impression of yours, Miss Davis," Captain Castaigne concluded, as he walked over to his wife's side.

At midnight Captain Castaigne and Eugenia went back to the chateau, walking hand-in-hand like children through the woods. There was no fighting these days in this particular portion of southern France and in the peace of the night one could almost forget that the world was at war.

"You will miss your friends when they return to their own country, Eugenia," Captain Castaigne suggested.

Eugenia nodded. "Yes, they will be gone, I believe, in another month. But we will go over ourselves some day, Henri, and perhaps you may learn to care for my country as I do for yours."

"Yes, and think of the service I shall owe her for the work the American Red Cross has done for France!" the young officer concluded, and in the darkness lifted his cap for a moment.

"Whatever Lafayette did for you in the cause of freedom, your land has now fully repaid."

THE END



BOOKS BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK

THE RANCH GIRLS SERIES

THE RANCH GIRLS AT RAINBOW LODGE THE RANCH GIRLS' POT OF GOLD THE RANCH GIRLS AT BOARDING SCHOOL THE RANCH GIRLS IN EUROPE THE RANCH GIRLS AT HOME AGAIN THE RANCH GIRLS AND THEIR GREAT ADVENTURE

THE RED CROSS GIRLS SERIES

THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN THE BRITISH TRENCHES THE RED CROSS GIRLS ON THE FRENCH FIRING LINE THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN BELGIUM THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE ITALIAN ARMY THE RED CROSS GIRLS UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES

STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SUNRISE HILL THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AMID THE SNOWS THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE OUTSIDE WORLD THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ACROSS THE SEA THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' CAREERS THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN AFTER YEARS THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE DESERT THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT THE END OF THE TRAIL