t I shouldn't wonder
if what we have would prove more digestible."

So Joe Barnes entertained them with fun and jokes while he devoured the
different courses with a thoroughness that awoke the admiration of the
girls.

But no matter how conscientiously Joe did justice to the good things set
before him, there was not a moment when he was not conscious of
Betty--Betty on the other side of the table, dimpling and sending him
back sally for sally with ready wit. What lucky chance had prompted
nature to send a thunderstorm that afternoon? The jolly old lady was
certainly on his side!

Then when Joe had decided that nothing remained to devour, the party
adjourned to the living room, where the former put some records on the
phonograph.

The Barnes had a collection of very wonderful records, and for more than
an hour the girls sat entranced as, one by one, Joe produced for their
enjoyment, the greatest artists of the musical world.

Finally some one suggested that Betty play some of the songs they had
loved in those service-filled days at the Hostess House. As the girlish
voices rang out in one patriotic song after another, Joe Barnes, who was
seated on the edge of a table with one foot swinging idly, fidgeted
uneasily, while over his face came a sober, almost sullen expression.

"Gee, I wish they wouldn't!" he murmured to himself.

CHAPTER XI

MYSTERY

Betty presently broke into the opening strains of "There's a long, long
road awinding," and the girlish voices took it up eagerly. They put into
the melody all the pathos and longing of their hearts. They forgot where
they were, the pleasant room faded away, and they saw only a sinister
gray line of trenches, trenches that were death traps for the flowering
youth of America. They were singing to the boys, their boys, and as she
listened Mrs. Ford's eyes filled with tears.

Nor was she the only one of that little audience who could not listen to
the song unmoved. Joe Barnes felt a great, unaccustomed lump rising in
his throat, and as the hot tears stung his eyes he rose hastily and
stood staring at, though not seeing, a great picture of some illustrious
ancestor that hung over the mantel.

And Mrs. Barnes, looking at her son, pressed a hand over her heart, as
though to still a hurt, while in her eyes grew a look of yearning.

"My poor, poor boy!" she murmured over and over to herself.

And the girls, all unaware of the emotions they had awakened, drew the