Catherine had been a Junior when Ruth was Captain
of South House, and she had pointed out to Judith Ruth's name on the
tablet in Big Hall where the names of House and School captains were
printed in letters of gold.

Judith considered, as Form Five marched into the Hall, what it would be
like to carry out wounded soldiers under fire. Nursing Sister Laughton
must be big and strong and brave, perhaps she was always brave and did
not really mind the explosions. What was courage, anyway? And then,
before she could decide this puzzling question, Miss Meredith was coming
down the centre aisle with her distinguished guest. The School gave a
thunderous welcome and settled back after Miss Meredith's brief
introduction to hear a thrilling story.

Form Five confessed among themselves afterwards to a distinct feeling of
disappointment when the speaker came forward. She was small, "not a bit
pretty," the girls decided, and her voice seemed tired and lacking in
vitality. The decoration on her breast appeared to be the only
significant thing about her. Evidently Ruth was nervous.

"If she is not afraid of bombs, she is afraid of us," thought Judith,
for the Sister's face grew white, her lips dry, and her assertion that
she was glad to be back at dear old York Hill seemed to be all that she
could remember of her speech. Three hundred pairs of hands had clapped
her a warm welcome, but now she confronted three hundred pairs of
critical eyes. She faltered, began again, and finally looked
appealingly, a schoolgirl once more, at her Head Mistress.

"Never mind about your own experiences just now, Ruth," said Miss
Meredith's calm, reassuring voice, "we'd like to hear a little more
about the children's hostels in the north of France. We are all
interested because we are sending clothes to Jean Warner to
distribute."

And then a miracle happened, the whole School saw it. Ruth was
transformed before them, her eyes brightened, her shoulders
straightened, her voice had an inspiring ring in it as she told the
story of the heroism of other Old Girls.

She had an interesting story to tell and she told it well: even the
First-Form wrigglers sat with their eyes glued on her face as she told
of the brave fight which was being made for the life and health of the
children of Europe. "There is one thing especially I should like to tell
you," she finished, looking down into the sea of upturned faces,
"wherever I found a York girl--and you know my d