a certain calmness of soul--or was it merely a dramatic expression
of a soldierly attitude? We did not know. But to Henry and me, who
had been rescued from death by that tree that stopped the shell
headed straight for us, it seemed that we should come back after
the war was over and nail a medal of honour and a war cross on the
stump, and put up a statue there with an all-day program! We had
no desire to hide our fright! It relieved us to chatter about the
tablet on that tree stump!

The French soldier strolled over to us; helped to straighten out
the camion, and when we learned that he was going down the hill
we gave him a lift. He was a hairy, dirty, forsaken looking poilu
who, washed and shaved and classified, turned out to be an exchange
professer from the Sorbonne, who had spent a year at Harvard, and
it was he who told us of the bombing of the hospital at Landrecourt;
we'll call it Landrecourt to fool the censor, who thinks there is
no hospital there. At the mention of the hospital the Major turned
to us and said: "That's where we sent that pretty red-headed nurse
who came over with you on the boat. And," added the Major, "that
is the hospital equipped by Mrs. Chesman, of New York!" whose name
is also changed to fool the censor. It was a better known name!

"Say," exclaimed Henry, "the Aunt of the Gilded Youth!"

"You mean our ambulance boy who came over on the boat with you--the
multimillionaire?" asked the head of the American Ambulance service.

"The same," answered Henry, who turned to me and said in his
oratorical voice: "The plot thickens." Then the Frenchman told us
the story of the raid: How the airmen had come at midnight, dropped