turned and smiled at Maryette, made her a friendly
gesture, threw in the clutch, and, twisting the steering wheel with both
sun-browned hands, guided the machine out onto the road and sped away
swiftly after the cloud of receding dust.

"Drive on, mademoiselle," said the airman quietly.

In his accent there was something poignantly familiar to Maryette, and she
turned with a start and looked at him out of her dark blue, tear-marred
eyes.

"Are _you_ also American?" she asked.

"Gunner observer, American air squadron, mademoiselle."

"An airman?"

"Yes. My machine was shot down in Nivelle woods an hour ago."

After a silence, as they jogged along between the hazel thickets in the
warm afternoon sunshine:

"Were you acquainted with my friend?" she asked wistfully.

"With Jack Burley? A little. I knew him in Calais."

The tears welled up into her eyes:

"Could you tell me about him?... He was my first friend.... I did not
understand him in the beginning, monsieur. Among children it is different;
I had known boys--as one knows them at school. But a man, never--and,
indeed, I had not thought I had grown up until--he came--Djack--to live at
our inn.... The White Doe at Sainte Lesse, monsieur. My father keeps it."

"I see," nodded the airman gravely.

"Yes--that is the way. He came--my first friend, Djack--with mules from
America, monsieur--one thousand mules. And God knows Sainte Lesse had
never seen the like! As for me--I thought I was a child still--until--do
you understand, monsieur?"

"Yes, Maryette."

"Yes, that is how I found I was grown up. He was a man, not a boy--that is
how I found out. So he became my first friend. He was quite droll, and
very big and kind--and timid--following me about--oh, it was quite droll
for both of us, because at first I was afraid, but pretended not to be."

She smiled, then suddenly her eyes filled with the tragedy again, and she
began to whimper softly to herself, with a faint sound like a hovering
pigeon.

"Tell me about him," said the airman.

She staunched her tears with the edge of her apron.

"It was that way with us," she managed to say. "I was enchanted and a
little frightened--it being my first friendship. He was so big, so droll,
so kind.... We were on our way to Nivelle this morning. I was to play the
carillon--being mistress of the bells at Sainte Lesse--and there was
nobody else to play the bells at Nivelle; and the wounded desired to hear
the carillon.