nce? Why was she chosen to serve at the
furthest outpost where risk and opportunity went hand in hand?

Dr. Neil McDonnell, leader of the Ambulance Corps, had brought a party
of her friends from Furnes, to celebrate the coming of the car. Dr.
McDonnell was delighted with every success achieved by his "children."
When the three women went to Pervyse, and the fame of them spread
through the Belgian Army, the Doctor was as happy as if a grandchild
had won the Derby. He was glad when Mrs. Bracher and "Scotch" received
the purple ribbon and the starry silver medal for faithful service in a
parlous place. He was now very happy that Hilda's fame had sprung to
England, taken root, and bloomed in so choice a way. He had a curiously
sweet nature, the Doctor, a nature without animosities, absent-minded,
filmed with dreams, and those dreams large, bold and kindly.

"Your car is better than a medal," he said; "a medal can't save life,
but this car will. This is as good as an endowed hospital bed. It's like
the King's touch; it heals everyone who comes near. May its shadow never
grow less."

"I hope they won't shoot away its bonnet," said Hilda; "there's nothing
so dead-looking as a wrecked ambulance. I saw one the other day on the
Oestkirke road. It looked like a summer-resort place in winter."

"No danger," replied the Doctor, who was of a buoyant cast; "you are
born lucky. You're one of the Fortunate Seven. You know there are Seven
Fortunate born in each generation. All the good things come to them
without striving. You are one of the Fortunate Seven."

"We shall see," responded Hilda.

The Doctor was just starting back to Furnes, when he remembered what he
had come for.

"By the way," he called to Hilda, "what driver do you want?"

"Smith, of course," she answered. "Whom could I want but Smith? He is
quite the bravest man I have met in the twenty weeks out here."

"He's only a chauffeur," remarked one of the Corps.

"Only a chauffeur," echoed Hilda; "only the man who runs the car and
picks up the wounded, and straps in the stretchers. Give me Smith, every
time--" she ended.

"He looks like a hero, doesn't he?" said the same member of the Corps.

"No, he doesn't," laughed Hilda, "and that's the joke."

* * * * *

Smith reported for duty early next morning.

"We must christen the car in some real way," she said. "How shall it be,
Smith?"

"Dixmude," he answered. He generally dealt i