wink at Henry, who grinned at the expiring ghost of it. Then Auntie
led the talk to the raid of the night before; and invited us to
come up for a night's sleep in a civilized bed in the hospital. We
were quartered for the night with the Ambulance boys, sleeping in
a barn loft, so naturally, we accepted her invitation. Just as we
were leaving to get our baggage, out into the court came the Eager
Soul bearing a letter. We did not see the address, but it was,
alas, plainly dimpled in her face, for the Gilded Youth to see,
and after greeting him only pleasantly, she handed the letter to
us, saying: "Would you be good enough to deliver this for me at
Gonrecourt next week, as you are passing? It is to a friend I met
on the boat!"

"Yes," said Henry; "one meets so many nice people on the boat."

"Sometimes," she answered, as she turned to her work.

That night we slept like logs until after midnight; then the moon
rose, and the hospital began to come to life. The stir and murmur
of the place wakened us. And we realized what a moonlight night
means in a hospital near the front line. It means terror. No one
slept after moonrise. It was a new experience for Henry and me.
So we rose and met it. And we realized that in scores of hospitals
all over the war zone, on the side of the allies, similar scenes
were enacting. The Germans were literally tearing the nerves out
of hundreds of nurses by their raiding campaign--nurses whom the
raiders did not visit, but who were threatened by every moonlight
night!

It must have been after two in the morning, when we saw the Eager