Since Mrs. Gleason had been freed from the plotting of the spy,
Potzfeldt, she had lived a happy life--that is as happy as one could
amid the scenes of war and its attendant horrors. She and Bessie
were throwing themselves heart and soul into the immortal work of
the Red Cross, and now Nellie bad joined them.

"It's the only way I can stop thinking about poor Harry," she said
with a sigh. "Oh, if I could only hear some good news about him,
that I might send it to the folks at home. Do you think it will
ever come--the good news, I mean?" she asked wistfully of Tom.

"All we can do is to hope," he said. He knew better than to buoy up
false hopes, for he had seen too much of the terrible side of war.
In his heart he knew that there was but little chance for Harry
Leroy, after the latter's aeroplane had been shot down behind the
German lines. Yet there was that one, slender hope to which all of
us cling when it seems that everything else is lost.

"He may be a prisoner, and, in that case, there is a chance," said
Tom, while Jack and Bessie were conversing on the other side of the
room.

"You mean a chance to escape?"

"Hardly that, though it has been done. A few aviators have got away
from German prison camps. But it's only one chance in many
thousand. No, what I meant was that--well, it's too small and slim
a chance to talk about, I'm afraid."

"Oh, no!" she hastened to assure him. "Do tell me! No chance is