conversation, had not lasted long, and no one knew from what source it had come, whether the Germans were making a surprise attack nearby, or the allied troops repulsing one.

At dawn, hearing a knocking at the kitchen door, Mrs. Burton had admitted an old French peasant woman and her small grandson. At present they were having their breakfast of coffee and bread in a corner of the big kitchen, having preferred not to sit at the table. With them they had brought the news that the Germans had endeavored to cross the river about ten miles from the Château Yvonne, but had been driven back. Also they reported that the roads were becoming constantly more crowded with refugees, and as soon as they had a little food and rest they wished to journey on.

Following her demand, a little to the Camp Fire guardian’s surprise, no dissenting voice greeted her.

Instead Alice Ashton replied immediately:

“I entirely agree with you, Tante. The sooner all of you make the effort to reach Paris the better under the present conditions. I am afraid your strength will not hold out if you continue waiting much longer in this uncertainty. You understand that I cannot go with you. I must stay here until Sally arrives with Aunt Patricia, if they ever do arrive. Sally is younger than I am and not able to take care of herself in an emergency, so that if anything happened to her I should always feel responsible. I see now that to have allowed her to remain behind with Aunt Patricia and Vera was madness, and yet no one could have anticipated the turn events have recently taken. Still, in coming to France during war times each one of us understood the possibility of danger. During our work at our farmhouse on the Aisne we had a much quieter experience than any of us anticipated!”

Alice’s speech had made an impression upon her small audience, notwithstanding, Mrs. Burton shook her head.

“Sorry I can agree with only a part of what you have just said, Alice. You must go on to Paris with the other girls. I will stay on here to wait for Aunt Patricia, Sally and Vera. I shall be in no especial danger, unless the fighting actually reaches this château, which I doubt. But with you girls here with me the situation would be utterly different. Never so long as I live would I wish to face a member of your families. I know now that I should never have brought you with me to France until the war was actually ended! Personally I shall prefer staying on here for a few days to rest.”

Mrs. Burton now turned directly to Yvonne Fleury.

“Yvonne, I have not forgotten what you told me last night, nevertheless, you must go on to Paris. Remember the other girls need you to act as their guide, as you alone know the roads in this part of the country. It may be that after you have motored some of the way you may be able to board a train, so that you will reach Paris more quickly. I don’t know, I must leave details of the journey to your judgment. Some day, Mary Gilchrist, I intend writing your father what his gift of a motor to you has meant to us here in France.

“Also I think he need no longer regret having had no son to send to France; no one could have accomplished more useful work than you in these past few months, or handled a car more successfully.”

As she finished her suggestions, which she had made as casual and matter of fact as possible, Mrs. Burton half rose from the tall wooden stool, which was serving as her resting place, only to be drawn back again by Peggy Webster, who laid a firm hold on her.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Tante!” Peggy remarked coolly, although not with marked respect. “You know I would just as soon march out boldly and alone to meet the advancing German army as to leave you here in the château by yourself to await Miss Patricia’s coming. As a matter of fact all of us realize she may never reach here. There is no use avoiding the truth that there is every possibility the road may be cut off. Besides, you speak of the impossibility of your facing our families if misfortune should overtake one of us. Please think of the situation for me if I should some day have to confess to my mother that I had left you alone and ill, utterly deserted by all of us, to meet whatever may come. You are not well enough to be alone even under ordinary circumstances.”

Peggy Webster possessed certain obstinate characteristics of her father. Many years before when they were both young, Mrs. Burton and Mr. Webster had known each other intimately and been eternally at war.

Therefore, Mrs. Burton was secretly a little amused and a little annoyed at this moment by the firmness of Peggy’s crimson lips, the single frowning line that appeared between her dark level brows. Moreover, she knew that at present she had neither strength nor time for argument with her niece.

“We must either decide it is wisest for us all to leave here for Paris, or all to remain here,” Bettina Graham added at this instant. “Certainly, Tante, no one of us will consider going on without you, or even leaving just one of us here to face the situation with you. It is my opinion that the way to meet the present difficulty is to meet it together. Our chief trouble now is, not so much our own danger, as our uncertainty and worry over Aunt Patricia, Vera and Sally. It seems to me our original mistake was ever to have separated; either we should have waited with them at the farmhouse until we could have started off together, or insisted they come here to the château with us.”

Not alone was Bettina Graham’s opinion of influence among her group of Camp Fire associates, ordinarily Mrs. Burton was also equally responsive to it, Bettina possessing an unusual nature, a high sense of honor, unselfishness and above all else good breeding. And these characteristics were not due only to her parentage and training, but to something innate in the girl herself.

Yet this instant, and in spite of Peggy’s restraining hand, Mrs. Burton managed to rise from her place.

The next, she stood quietly facing the group of girls, who were gazing as intently upon her. And upon each face the Camp Fire guardian read the strongest spiritual opposition to her recent suggestion.

During the night Mrs. Burton had slept very little, she was now feeling more exhausted than she cared to confess. Nevertheless, she faced her present task with the courage and calmness characteristic of her in important moments.

Dressing had always been something of an art with Mrs. Burton, even in the days when as a girl, she, as Polly O’Neill, had little money to spend. Since that time Mrs. Burton had apologized for herself by declaring that clothes must do for her what natural beauty accomplished for other women. They must divert attention from her natural plainness.

But whether or not this were true, and most persons would not have agreed with her, Mrs. Burton always dressed with exquisite care.

This morning, even under the present trying conditions, her hair was as carefully arranged, her blue serge costume fitted with the same neatness and simplicity. Only her face revealed her fatigue and anxiety.

Nevertheless, as she stood gazing at her group of Camp Fire girls with a mixture of appeal and authority, some quality in her expression gave her a charm few persons ever possessed, a charm which had been partly responsible for her remarkable success as an actress. At present her eyes were very blue and determined, her mouth revealed both strength and tenderness.

“I am sorry,” she began, “perhaps you girls do