light in her eye and a
humorous curve to her not too-full lips that promised an uplifting
spirit within her even in serious mood.

It seemed as though this day--and its apparent peace--must breed
happiness, although it was but a respite in the middle of winter. The
balmy air, the chirrup of the bird, the far-flung reaches of the valley
which she could see from this mounting lane, all delighted the senses
and soothed the spirit.

Suddenly, with an unexpectedness that was shocking, there was a tremor
in the air and the echo of a rumbling sound beneath the girl's feet.
The crack of a distant explosion followed. Then another, and another,
until the sound became a continual grumble of angry explosions,
resonant and threatening.

The girl did not stop, but the expression of her face lost its
cheerfulness. The song of the bird was cut off sharply. It seemed as
though the sun itself began drawing a veil over his face. The peaceful
mood of nature was shattered.

The girl kept on her way, but she no longer stepped lightly and
springily. Those muttering guns had brought a somber cloak for her
feelings--to her very soul.

Somewhere a motor began to hum. The sound came nearer with great
rapidity. It was a powerful engine. It was several seconds before the
girl looked up instead of along the road in search of the seat of this
whirring sound.

There shot into view overhead, and flying low, an aeroplane that looked
like a huge flying insect--an enormous armored grasshopper. Only its
head was somewhat pointed and there, fixed in the front, was the ugly
muzzle of a machine gun. The airplane flew so low that she could see
the details.

There were two masked men in it, one at the wheel, the other at the
machine gun. The aeroplane swooped just above her head, descending
almost to the treetops, the roaring of it deafening the girl in the Red
Cross uniform. There was the red, white and blue shield of the United
States painted upon the underside of the car.

Then it was gone, mounting higher and higher, until, as she stood to
watch it, it became a painted speck against the sky. That is the lure
of the flying machine. The wonder of it--and the terror--attracts the
eye and shakes the spirit of the beholder.

With a sigh the girl went on up the lane, mounting the hill steadily,
on the apex of which, among giant forest trees, loomed the turrets and
towers of a large chateau.

Again the buzzing of a motor broke the nea