ook hero" and he felt
ashamed. He knew that General Pershing would not have sent him rescuing
girls, and that the best way he could help France, and even the Leteurs,
was to hurry up and get into the trenches where he belonged. Yes, Archer
was right. And with a pang of remorse Tom remembered how Archer had said
it, "rescuing a girrl!" He would never hear Archer talk like that any
more....

He had more than once been close enough to death to learn to keep his
nerve in the presence of it, but the loss of his companion quite
unnerved him. It had not occurred to him that anything _could_ happen to
Archer, who claimed himself that he always landed right side up because
he was lucky. Tom could not realize that he was gone.

Still, comrades were lost to each other every day in that far-flung
trench line and in that bloody sea of northern France friends were
parted and many went down.

"_Down_----"

How that awful word had sounded--long drawn out and faint in the storm
and darkness!

He stumbled over a rocky space and ran plunk into something solid. As he
looked up he could distinguish the top of it; uneven and ragged it
seemed against the blackness of the night. Whatever it was, it seemed to
be slender and rather high, and the odd thought came to him that he was
on the deck of some mammoth submarine, looking up at the huge conning
tower. Perhaps it was because he _had_ once been rescued by a submarine,
or perhaps just because his wits were uncertain and his nerves unstrung,
but it was fully a minute before he realized that he was on solid
earth--or rock. It afforded him a measure of relief.

What that grim black thing could be that frowned upon him he did not
know, and he staggered around it, feeling it with his hands. It was of
masonry and presently he came to what was evidently a door, which opened
as he leaned against it. Its silent hospitality was not agreeable to
him; the very thought of a possible German habitation roused him out of
his fatigue and despair, and with a sudden quick instinct he drew
stealthily back until presently he felt the water lapping his feet
again.

Here, at a comparatively safe distance, he paused for breath after what
he felt to be a worse peril than the storm, and felt for the one trusty
friend he had left--the little compass. The precious rubber glove
containing this and the flashlight was safe in his pocket, and he held
both under his coat and tried to throw the light upon the compass