t his troubled look told of busy thoughts.

"What does she look like?" inquired Beth. "Have you her photograph?"

"No; she would not make a good picture, mamselle," he answered with a
sigh. "Clarette is large; she is fat; she has a way of scowling when one
does not bring in more wood than the fire can eat up; and she is very
religious."

"With that description I am sure we can find her," cried Patsy
enthusiastically.

He seemed disturbed.

"If you please," said he plaintively, "Clarette is quite able to take
care of herself. She has a strong will."

"But if you know she is safe it will relieve your anxiety," suggested
Beth. "You told us yesterday you had been searching everywhere for her."

"If I said everywhere, I was wrong, for poor Clarette must be somewhere.
And since yesterday I have been thinking with more deliberation, and I
have decided," he added, his tone becoming confidential, "that it is
better I do not find Clarette just now. It might destroy my usefulness
to the Red Cross."

"But your children!" protested Patsy. "Surely you cannot rest at ease
with your two dear children wandering about, in constant danger."

"To be frank, mamselle," said he, "they are not my children. I had a
baby, but it was killed, as I told you. The boy and girl I have
mentioned were born when Clarette was the wife of another man--a
blacksmith at Dinant--who had a sad habit of beating her."

"But you love the little ones, I am sure."

He shook his head.

"They have somewhat the temper of their father, the blacksmith. I took
them when I took Clarette--just as I took the silver spoons and the
checkered tablespread she brought with her--but now that a cruel fate
has separated me from the children, perhaps it is all for the best."

The doctor gave a snort of disgust, while Ajo smiled. The girls were too
astonished to pursue the conversation, but now realized that Maurie's
private affairs did not require their good offices to untangle. Uncle
John was quite amused at the Belgian's confession and was the only one
to reply.

"Fate often seems cruel when she is in her happiest mood," said he.
"Perhaps, Maurie, your Clarette will come to you without your seeking
her, for all Belgium seems headed toward France just now. What do you
think? Will the Germans capture Dunkirk?"

The man brightened visibly at this turn in the conversation.

"Not to-day, sir; not for days to come," he replied. "The French cannot
afford to lose Dunkir