lace it was, in the strange
life of La Panne. A word from him smoothed out tangles. The Etat Major
approved of him. He was twice arrested as a spy, and enjoyed the
experience hugely. At one time, there was a deficiency of tires of the
right make, and he put a rush order clear across the Atlantic and had
the consignment over in record time. He cut through the red tape of the
transport service, red tape that had been annoying even the established
hospitals. He imported comforts for the helpers. There was a special
brand of tea which the English nurses were missing. So there was nothing
for it, but his London agent must accompany the lot in person to La
Panne. There was something restless, consuming, in his activity.

"Your maternity hospital is a great idea," said Hinchcliffe to Hilda,
during one of their talks. "I've cabled for five thousand pounds. That
will start things."

The maternity hospital had been suggested to Hilda by the plight of
little "Pervyse," and the hundreds of other babies of the war whom she
had seen, and the hapless peasant mothers. Military hospitals are for
soldiers, not for expectant mothers or orphaned children, and
"Pervyse's" days of glory were ending. Reluctantly Colonel Depage, head
surgeon of the hospital, had told Hilda that "Pervyse" must seek another
home. His room was needed for fighting men.

"Let me have him christened first?" asked Hilda, and the great Belgian
physician had consented.

It took her a week to make ready the ritual, but the morning came at
last.

"To-day we christen 'Pervyse,'" said Hilda to the banker. "Will you
come?"

"It isn't just my sort of speciality," replied Hinchcliffe, "but of
course I'll come, if you'll show me the moves."

Hilda had chosen for the ceremony a village church on the Dixmude road.
They put all the little necessary bundles of baby life into Hilda's
ambulance--a packet of little shawls, and intimate clothing, a basket of
things to eat, a great christening cake, frosted by Dunkirk's leading
confectioner, a can of chocolate and of cream, candy baskets of sweets.
It was Sunday--a cloudless, innocent day. They dodged through Furnes,
the ruined, and came at length to the village of their quest. They
entered the convent, and found a neat, clean room of eight beds. Two
babies had arrived. Six mothers were expectant. In charge of the room
was a red-cheeked, black-eyed nurse, a Flemish girl, motherly with the
babies. Hilda dressed "Pervyse" in a l