monsters in the air were singing their nightingale songs of death
in the moonlight.

We left the Young Doctor after he had squeezed out of us all the
news we had of the girl. Long after we had passed through the garden
gate, out into the white, gravel-paved court under the proud arch
and into the crooked, low, grey-walled canyon of the street, we
thought of the Young Doctor sitting there reading blue eyes into
china asters, red hair into dahlias, pink cheeks into the phlox,
and hearing ineffable things whispered among the leaves of the
melancholy yew tree. And all that, in a land of waste and desolation,
with war's alarms on every wind.

And we thought that he looked more like a poet than a Doctor even
in his uniform; and less like a soldier than either. Such is the
alchemy of love in youth!




CHAPTER VI

WHEREIN WE BECOME A TRIO AND JOURNEY TO ITALY


As the autumn deepened we found our Red Cross work ending. This
work had taken Henry and me from our quiet country newspaper offices
in Kansas and had suddenly plunged us into the turmoil of the big
war. For days and days we had been riding in motor cars along
the line in France from Rouen to Bacarat and often ambulances had