etcher-bearers carrying Tim to the waiting ambulance. Once more he
looked at Marian, tried twice to speak, but stood humbly mute before
her--awed by her ennobling beauty. For again her exquisite hands were
crossed over the red emblem upon her breast, her eyes gazed into the
glorified sky, and her lips moved as she pleaded with the God of Hosts
to fire this playmate at her side with the divine spark of courage--and
keep him brave.

Jeb bowed his head, feeling as though he were within the precinct of a
holy shrine; then in silence turned and went down the road, walking with
firm steps which, he prayed, would lead to the dawn of a new manhood.

The first of the "75's" crashed spitefully, and in a chaotic instant the
air and earth again were shorn of their blessed peace. Instantly the sky
became streaked with trails of smoke from over-passing shells. Far to
the north they fell and burst into white spray, as though a long
Atlantic comber were pounding on a rocky shore.

She turned once and looked toward it, moved by infinite pity for the men
who were being shattered; then started slowly back into the quadrangle,
just as Bonsecours dashed wildly up in search of her.

There were no words that he could say; he merely stood in front of her,
holding out his arms. Her fingers, still laced over the Red Cross,
fluttered nervously, as a butterfly, at the beginning of a summer storm,
will cling to a flower--wanting, yet not daring to leave lest its frail
wings, caught upon the wind, might carry it far out into an unexplored
world. But her eyes gazed at him with illimitable yearning; then gently
she swayed, stretched out her hands, and ran to him.

CHAPTER XVII

Trees that lined the streets of Hillsdale were touched with tints of red
and gold, frescoed by the magic brush of approaching winter.

In the _Eagle_ office sat the Colonel and Mr. Strong, looking
thoughtfully into their laps. Tears glistened on their cheeks; for
several minutes neither of them had spoken. Held in the editor's fingers
was an open letter just received, while in the Colonel's inert hand lay
a clipping from the Paris _Figaro_. The Colonel now glanced up slowly
but, seeing Mr. Strong's face, sharply exclaimed:

"I wish you'd stop your infernal weeping, Amos!"

"I wish you'd stop your own!" the editor replied with equal asperity;
then both of them began to laugh.

"I confess, Amos, that it's hard to keep back tears. Why, by gad, sir,
he has done a