elgian soldiers from suffering? It will be
run by a nurse named Hilda. 'Lady Hildas' subscribe a
guinea, 'Hildas' over sixteen, half-guinea, 'Little
Hildas', and 'Hildas' in straightened circumstances,
two-shillings-and-sixpence."

That was the "Personal" on the front page of the London _Times_, which
had gone out over the land.

Hilda's life at the front had appealed to the imagination of some
thousands of the Belgian soldiers, and to many officers. The fame of her
and of her two companions had grown with each week of the wearing,
perilous service, hard by the Belgian trenches. Gradually there had
drifted out of the marsh-land hints and broken bits of the life-saving
work of these Pervyse girls, all the way back to England. The Hildas of
the realm had rallied, and funds flowed into the London office, till a
swift commodious car was purchased, and shipped out to the young nurse.

And now Hilda's car had actually come to her, there at the
dressing-station in Pervyse. The brand new motor ambulance was standing
in the roadway, waiting her need. Its brown canopy was shiny in the sun.
A huge Red Cross adorned either side with a crimson splash that ought
to be visible on a dark night. The thirty horse-power engine purred and
obeyed with the sympathy of a high-strung horse. Seats and stretchers
inside were clean and fresh for stricken men. From Hilda's own home town
of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, had come a friendship's garland of one hundred
dollars. She liked to fancy that this particular sum of money had passed
into the front wheels, where the speed was generated.

"My car, my very own," she murmured. She dreamed about it, and carried
it in her thoughts by day. She had fine rushes of feeling about it, too.
It must do worthy work, she said to herself. There could be no
retreating from bad pockets with that car. There must be no leaving the
wounded, when the firing cuts close, no joy-riding.

She could not help feeling proud of her position. There was no other
woman out of all America who had won through to the front. And on all
the Western battle-line of four hundred miles, there were no other
women, save her and her two friends, who were doing just this sort of
dangerous touch-and-go work. With her own eyes she had read the letters
of more than two hundred persons, begging permission to join the Corps.
There were women of title, professional men of standing. What had she
done to deserve such lucky emine