ncheon and the Quartermaster, Jane, is burning the
papers and so on.

After I have finished this Log we will take up the signaling. We have
decided in this way: Lining up in a row, and counting one to ten,
and even numbers will study flag signals, and the odds will take up
telagraphy, which is very clearly shown in the Manual.

After that we will have exercises to make us strong and elastic, and
then target practise.

We have as yet no guns, but father has one he uses for duck shooting in
the fall, and Betty's uncle was in Africa last year and has three, which
she thinks she can secure without being noticed. We have passed this
Resolution: To have nothing to do with those of the other Sex who are
not prepared to do their Duty.

EVENING, APRIL 12TH. I returned to my domacile in time to take in Old
Glory, and also to dress for dinner, being muddy and needing a bath,
as we had tried bathing in the creek at the camp while Mademoiselle was
asleep in the tent, but found that there was an oil well near and the
water was full of oil, which stuck to us and was very disagreeable to
smell.

Carter Brooks came to dinner, and I played the National Anthem on the
phonograph as we went in to the Dining Room. Mother did not like it,
as the soup was getting cold, but we all stood until it was finished. I
then saluted, and we sat down.

Carter Brooks sat beside me, and he gave me a long and piercing glance.

"What's the matter with you, Bab?" he said. "You were rather rude to
me last night and now you've been looking through me and not at me ever
since I came, and I'll bet you're feverish."

"Not at all." I said, in a cold tone. "I may be excited, because of
war and my Country's Peril. But for goodness sake don't act like
the Familey, which always considers that I am sick when I am merely
intence."

"Intence about what?" he asked.

But can one say when one's friends are a disapointment to one? No, or at
least not at the table.

The others were not listening, as father was fussing about my waking him
at daylight to put out the Emblem.

"Just slide your hand this way, under the table cloth," Carter Brooks
said in a low tone. "It may be only intencity, but it looks most awfully
like chicken pocks or somthing."

So I did, considering that it was only Politeness, and he took it and
said:

"Don't jerk! It is nice and warm and soft, but not feverish. What's that
lump?"

"It's a blister," I said. And as the others were now