a soldier in the rafters, who passed them to another on the
ladder, who dropped them to another on the stone floor, who hurried them
to an officer at the telephone in the west front, who spoke them to a
battery one mile away.

They took the poplar-lined drive-way that leads to the crossroads. They
turned east, and made for Caeskerke. And now Smith let out his engine,
for it is not wise to delay along a road that is in clear sight and
range of active guns. At Caeskerke station, they halted for reports on
the situation in Dixmude.

There, they saw their good friend, Dr. van der Helde, in the little
group behind the wooden building of the station.

"I have just come from Dixmude," he said; "it is under a fairly heavy
fire. The Hospital of St. Jean is up by the trenches. I have thirty poor
old people there, who were left in the town when the bombardment
started. They have been under shell fire for four days, and their nerves
are gone. They are paralyzed with fright, and cannot walk. I brought
them to the hospital from the cellars where they were hiding. I have
come back here to try to get cars to take them to Furnes. Will you help
me get them?"

"That's what we're here for," said Dr. McDonnell.

"Thank you," said the Belgian quietly. "Shall we not leave the lady?" he
suggested, turning to Hilda.

"Try it," she replied with a smile.

Dr. van der Helde jumped aboard.

"And you mean to tell me you couldn't get hold of an army car to help
you out, all this time?" asked Dr. McDonnell, in amazement.

"Orders were strict," replied the Belgian; "the military considered it
too dangerous to risk an ambulance."

They had entered the town of Dixmude. Hilda had never seen so thorough a
piece of ruin. Walls of houses had crumbled out upon the street into
heaps of brick and red dust. Stumps of building still stood, blackened
down their surface, as if lightning had visited them. Wire that had
once been telegraph and telephone crawled over the piles of wreckage,
like a thin blue snake. The car grazed a large pig, that had lost its
pen and trough and was scampering wildly at each fresh detonation from
the never-ceasing guns.

"It's a bit warm," said Smith, as a piece of twisted metal, the size of
a man's fist, dropped by the front wheel.

"That is nothing," returned Dr. van der Helde.

They had to slow up three times for heaps of ruin that had spread across
the road. They reached the Hospital. It still stood unbroken. It had