to all you can carry, but I don't see how we can do any more
for you. But would you like to see the officer in charge, sir?"

"Thank you," said Barry, and together they passed into another room.

But the officer was engaged elsewhere. While they were discussing the
matter, a door opened, and a young girl dressed in the uniform of a V.
A. D. (Voluntary Aid Detachment) appeared.

"What is it, sergeant?" she inquired, in a soft but rather tired voice.

The sergeant explained, while she listened with mild interest. Then
Barry took up the tale, and proceeded to dilate upon the wretched
condition of his comrades, out in the icy rain. But his story moved
the V. A. D. not at all. She had seen too much of the real misery and
horrors of war. Barry began to feel discouraged, and indeed a little
ashamed of himself.

"You see, we have just come over," he said in an apologetic tone, "and
we don't know much about war yet."

"You are Canadians?" cried the girl, a new interest dawning in her eyes.
As she came into the light, Barry noticed that they were brown, and that
they were very lustrous.

"I love the Canadians," she exclaimed. "My brother was a liaison
artillery officer at Ypres; with them, at the time of the gas, you know.
He liked them immensely." Her voice was soft and sad.

Unconsciously Barry let his eyes fall to the black band on her arm.

"He was with the Canadians, too, when he was killed at Armentieres,
three months ago."

"Killed!" exclaimed Barry. "Oh, I am so sorry for you."

"I had two brothers," she went on, in her gentle even tone. "One was
killed at Landrecies, on the retreat from Mons, you know."

"No," said Barry, "I'm afraid I don't know about it. Tell me!"

"It was a great fight," said the girl. "Oh, a splendid fight!" A ring
came into her voice and a little colour into her cheek. "They tried to
rush our men, but they couldn't. My oldest brother was there in charge
of a machine gun section. The machine guns did wonderful work. The
colonel came to tell us about it. He said it was very fine." There was
no sign of tears in her eyes, nor tremor in her voice, only tenderness
and pride.

"And your mother is alone now?" inquired Barry.

"Oh, we gave up our house to the government for a hospital. You see,
father was in munitions. He's too old for active service, and mother is
matron in the hospital. She was very unwilling that I should come over
here. She said I was far too young, but of course that's