hed himself from top to toe as a Uhlan full lieutenant.
He stood before the small glass tacked in the corner and twirled and
stiffened his mustache with pomatum. When he turned and strode before
Ruth again he was the typical haughty martinet who demanded of the rank
and file the goose-step and "right face salute" of the German army.

"For your protection, Fraulein," he said, stooping at the box again,
"we must make a subaltern of you."

"Oh! I could never look like a boy," Ruth objected, shrinking as she
saw the second uniform brought to light.

"For your protection," he said again. "A girl like you, Fraulein,
would not have the chance of a rabbit among these Huns. They are not
French," he added dryly. "I will step outside. Make haste, please."

He practically commanded her to don the uniform he laid out.

Ruth let fall the heavy rubber garment she had worn through the swamp.
Then she removed her outer clothing and got into the uniform and into
the long, polished boots quickly. There was even the swagger cane that
young Prussian officers carry.

She viewed herself as well as she could in the piece of mirror in the
corner. She might have the appearance of a "stage" soldier; but nobody
would ever, for a moment, take her for a man!

She strode up and down the hut for several moments, trying to tune her
gait to her new character--no easy matter. Finally she went to the
door. The lamplight showed her figure boldly in the frame of the
doorway. She saw the waiting major start, and he muttered something
under his breath.

"Am I not all right?" she asked with some trepidation.

For once Major Marchand forgot himself.

He bowed his stiff, military bow with a gesture as though he would kiss
her finger tips.

"Assuredly, Mademoiselle!"

She drew back for him to enter the hut again. He withdrew from the box
under the straw a long, military cloak, which he fastened upon Ruth's
shoulders.

"It will cover the figure, Fraulein. And now, a bit of camouflage."

From his pocket he drew a leather roll, which, when opened, proved to
contain shaving materials and certain toilet requisites. With a
camel's hair brush dipped in grease paint he darkened her lip and her
cheekbones just before her ears--as though the down of immature manhood
were sprouting. She again looked at herself in the glass.

"I _am_ a boy now!" she cried.

Major Marchand chuckled as he tumbled the rubber suits and all the
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