connection with his discovery and rescue by
the chums that some of the events of the last volume came about.

And it may as well be confessed here that Tom felt more than a passing
interest in the pretty sister of Harry, for Nellie Leroy was serving her
country as a Red Cross nurse, being just then in one of the American
field hospitals to which the wounded were being carried day after day
while the Argonne drive was on.

Tom was a full hour and more reading his letters, rereading them, and
dreaming over them. After their rescue from the chateau Mrs. Gleason and
Bessie had gone to Paris, where the mother, ably assisted by her
daughter, had thrown herself into Red Cross work. Now, so Bessie's note
told Tom, her mother was very tired and the two had gone down to Nice
for a brief rest. It would be perfect, Bessie wrote, if only Tom and
Jack and Nellie Leroy were with them.

For a while Tom lost himself in the thought of being at Nice, by the
blue sea, with Mrs. Gleason and Bessie and Nellie--especially
Nellie--and with Jack. With Jack! That thought aroused him.

Still no Jack! He grew more and more concerned, and began to picture all
sorts of grievous things as having happened to his chum.

Several times he thought he heard the well known voice near by, but on
each occasion discovered that he had deceived himself. Tom felt he could
stand it no longer, and had even commenced to set forth when, to his
delight, he discovered Jack coming.

"But what's he doing with that mite of a French child?" Tom asked
himself, staring in wonder and perplexity. "A cunning little girl she
seems to be; but a battlefield isn't just the place for such an
innocent. Poor thing! I suppose she's lost all her kin, and Jack brought
her along because he couldn't let her stay at the ruins of her home and
starve."

He was so filled with joy over the coming of his chum, who did not seem
to be wounded in the least, that everything else was forgotten.

"Letters from home, Jack, old scout; hurry your stumps!" he called out,
waving the epistles above his head.

Jack, still in his pilot's dress, was so eager to hurry that he picked
up the little six-year-old French child, and ran the last fifty yards.

"Did you get any yourself, Tom?" he demanded, as he came up; and then
immediately added: "I see you have some, and by the same token one of
them has a French stamp on it--from Nice!"

"Oh, it's Bessie Gleason," said Tom with a twinkle in his eye. "Y