"How do you catch birds?" Arthur asked her. "I know about shooting
them, and so on, but we haven't guns enough to count. Could we
catch them in traps, do you think?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Estelle thoughtfully. "But it would
be hard to catch many."

"Come down-stairs," directed Arthur. "You know as much as any of
the men here, and more than most, apparently. We're going to make
you show us how to catch things."

Estelle smiled, a trifle wanly. Arthur led the way to the
elevator. In the car he noticed that she looked distressed.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "You aren't really frightened,
are you?"

"No," she answered shakily, "but--I'm rather upset about this
thing. It's so--so terrible, somehow, to be back here, thousands
of miles, or years, away from all one's friends and everybody."

"Please"--Arthur smiled encouragingly at her--"please count me your
friend, won't you?"

She nodded, but blinked back some tears. Arthur would have tried to
hearten her further, but the elevator stopped at their floor. They
walked into the room where the meeting of cool heads was to take
place.