when the shrill Scout whistle sounded at his right. It was the signal
to gather, and Warren's heart leaped with delight as he thought,
"Elinor is found."

He crossed the space like a whirlwind, leaping over fallen walls and
dashing around buildings in his mad race.

He found the Scout who had whistled standing at the sagging door of
what had once been a comfortable home.

"Where is she?" cried Warren as he reached the doorway.

The boy shook his head. He was deathly pale, and trembled.

"It is not your sister; you may be glad of that; but we must do
something. Go in!"

Four other Scouts came panting up, all flushed with the hope that
Elinor had been found. They followed the boy who had pushed Warren
through the hall and through another door. Warren stopped appalled.

Half the wall was gone. A bomb had evidently struck the house. On the
bed a young woman lay. She was quite dead. Her ashy face told it
without the evidence of the blood in which she was bathed. By her side
lay a tiny girl. She, too, was still and cold in the last sleep of
death, but by a strange mischance of war, a baby lay unharmed in the
young mother's arms.

Unattended, uncomforted and cold, it had lain there for hours; yet it
lived, and as the boys entered sent up a feeble wail. Shaken to the