e background so
that in case the men became ill, they could drop out and be overtaken
by nurses and physicians.

The girls were glad of the rest and also extraordinarily hungry, having
spent the greater part of the night and every moment since daylight in
preparation for the advance.

Their three cars had stopped in front of a small farmhouse on the
outskirts of the town.

Approaching the house, Sonya and Dr. Raymond believed it to be empty.
The blinds were closed, the pathway to the front door untrodden. Yet it
had once been a gay little house of French grey with bright blue
shutters.

A knock at the door and both Sonya and the young physician thought they
heard scurrying noises inside. Yet knocking again there was no reply.

"Shall I try pushing the little front door open, Mrs. Clark? It is
pretty cold eating outside. I can't quite understand the situation. The
French people know we are their friends; they have been told to expect
nothing but kindness and consideration from us. Do look, already the
French civilians are coming out from the village to welcome us. Our
little house is surely uninhabited or it would not be so inhospitable."

Following Dr. Raymond's suggestion, Sonya turned.

Standing not far away in a group were the six Red Cross nurses for whom
she felt especially responsible, Nona Davis and Mildred Thornton, the
two girls who were her intimate and devoted friends and who had made
exceptional sacrifices to remain in Europe now that the war was ended.
There were also the two comparatively new nurses, Ruth Carroll and
Theodosia Thompson, and Bianca Zoli. The sixth girl was the Red Cross
nurse, Nora Jamison, who had arrived so late at the hospital.
Nevertheless she had been chosen by Dr. Clark to form a member of his
Red Cross unit who were to follow the army of occupation.

Beyond them was another group of nurses and physicians.

To Sonya's surprise she saw approaching at this moment from the little
French town close by between fifty and a hundred persons. Some of them
were old men and women hobbling along on sticks, their faces gaunt and
haggard with past suffering, but shining now with happiness. A dozen or
more little French girls were marching abreast, one of them carrying a
small American flag, another a French. Both flags were evidently home
made and must have been carefully hidden from the Germans during their
long occupancy of the French village. With them were five or six
American soldie