ow and then a motor or a big gun.

About a mile from the city, they came to a large red brick building,
with pretentious towers and surrounded by a high brick wall.

"An asylum," explained the driver. "Now used as a dressing station.
We'll just run in for orders."

At what seemed to Barry reckless speed, he whirled in between the brick
posts, and turned into a courtyard, on one side of which he parked his
ambulance.

"Better come inside, sir," said the driver. "They sometimes throw a few
in here, seeing it's a hospital."

They passed down the wide stairs, the centre of which had been converted
into a gangway for the passage of wheeled stretchers, into a large
basement, with concrete floors and massive pillars, lit by flaring
gasjets. Along the sides of the outer room were rows of wounded
soldiers, their bandaged heads and arms no whiter than their faces, a
patient and pathetic group, waiting without complaint for an ambulance
to carry them down the line.

In an inner and operating room, Barry found two or three medical
officers, with assistants and orderlies, intent upon their work. While
waiting there for their driver, they heard overhead again that ominous
and terrifying whine, this time, however, not long drawn, but coming in
with terrific speed, and ending with a sharp and shattering crash.
Again and again and again, with hardly a second between, there came the
shells. It seemed to Barry as if every crash was fair upon the roof
of the building, but no man either of the medical attendants or of the
waiting wounded paid the slightest heed.

At length there came a crash that seemed to break within the very room
in which they were gathered. The lights flickered, some of them went
out, there was a sound as if a tower had crashed down upon the roof.
Dust and smoke filled the room.

"Light up that gas," said the Officer Commanding. An orderly sprang to
obey. The gasjets were once more lighted and the work went on.

"Rather near, wasn't that one?" asked Barry of a wounded man at his
side.

"Yes," he replied casually, "they got a piece that time," and again he
sunk into apathetic silence.

In a few moments the driver had obtained his orders and was ready to set
forth.

"Better wait a bit," said the sergeant at the door, "until their Evening
Hate is over."

"Oh, that's all right," said the driver. "I guess Fritz is pretty well
through. They are rather crowded there at the mill, and I guess we'll go
on."

I