ittle balloons tied to it--red,
blue, green, yellow--all kinds and colours. Whenever I had the price I
bought one."

"Did it fly?"

"Yes. The gas in it wasn't much good unless you got a fresh one."

"Would it fly high?"

"Sure. Sky-high. I've seen 'em go clean out of sight when you got a fresh
one."

"Nobody uses them here, do they?"

"Here? No, it wouldn't be allowed. A spy could send a message by one of
those toy balloons."

"Oh," nodded Maryette thoughtfully.

Smith shook his head:

"No, children wouldn't be permitted to play with them things now,
Maryette."

"Then there are not any toy balloons to be had here in Sainte Lesse?"

"I rather guess not! Farther north there are."

"Where?"

"The artillery uses them."

"How?"

"I don't know. The balloon and flying service use 'em, too. I've seen
officers send them up. Probably it is to find out about upper air
currents."

"_Our_ flying service?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"_Ballons d'essai_," she nodded carelessly. But she was not yet entirely
convinced regarding the theory she was pondering.

After lunch she continued to be very busy in the laundry for a time, but
the memory of those three little balloons above the aspens troubled her.

Smith had gone on duty at the corral; Kid Glenn sauntered clanking into
the bar and was there regaled with a _bock_ and a _tranche_.

"Monsieur Keed," said Maryette, "are any of our airmen in Sainte Lesse
today?"

Glenn drained his glass and smacked his lips:

"No, ma'am," he said.

"No balloonists, either?"

"I don't guess so, Maryette. We've got the Boche flyers scared stiff. They
don't come over our first lines anymore, and our own people are out
yonder."

"Keed," she said, winningly sweet, "do you, in fact, love me a little--for
Djack's sake?"

"Yes'm."

"I borrow of you that automatic pistol. Yes?" She smiled at him
engagingly.

"Sure. Anything you want! What's the trouble, Maryette?"

She shrugged her pretty shoulders:

"Nothing. It just came into my cowardly head that the path to the _lavoir_
is lonely at sundown. And there are new muleteers in Sainte Lesse. And I
must wash my clothes."

"I reckon," he said gravely, unbuckling his weapon-filled holster and
quietly strapping it around her shoulder with its pocketed belt of clips.

"You will not require it this afternoon?" she asked.

"No fear. You won't either. Them mule-whacking coons is white."

She understood.

"Some men who seem whitest a