starve me to death. Mighty glad to have regular Yankee
rations. But," he added, "we'll be too late to get chow when we come
to the hospital, I am afraid. We'll try Mother Gervaise."

"Who is Mother Gervaise?" asked Ruth, glad to have some topic of
conversation with the ambulance driver.

"She's an old woman who used to be cook at one of these chateaux here,
they say. She'll feed us well for four francs each."

"Four francs!"

"Sure. Price has gone up," said Charlie dryly. "These French folk are
bound to think that every American is a millionaire. And I don't know
but it is worth it," and he grinned. "Think of being looked on as a
John D. Rockefeller everywhere you go! I'd never rise to such a height
in the States."

"No, I presume not," Ruth admitted with a laugh. "But how is it that
this Mother Gervaise, as you call her, is not afraid to stay here?"

"She stays to watch the gold grow in her stocking," Charlie replied,
shrugging his shoulders almost as significantly as a Frenchman.

"Oh! Is she that much of a miser?"

"You've said it. She stayed when the Germans first came and fed them.
When they retreated she stayed and met the advancing British (the
French did not come first) with hot soup, and changed her price from
pfennigs to shillings. Get her to tell you about it. It is worth
listening to--her experience."

Charlie Bragg stopped the car suddenly and got out. Ruth looked ahead
with curiosity. The road seemed rather smooth and quite unoccupied.
There was a group of trees, tortured by gunfire, which hid a turn in
the track and what lay beyond. Charlie was tinkering with the engine
of the machine.

"What is the matter?" Ruth ventured to ask.

"Nothing--yet," he returned. "But we've got to get around that next
turn in a hurry."

"Why?"

"It's a wicked corner," said Charlie. "I might as well tell you--then
you won't squeal if anything happens."

"Oh! Do you think I am a squealer?" she demanded rather tartly.

"I don't know," and he grinned again. He was an imp of mischief, this
Charlie Bragg, and she did not know how to take him.

"You're not 'spoofing me,' as our British brothers put it?"

"It's an honest-to-goodness bad corner--especially at night," Charlie
returned quite seriously now. "Boches know we fellows have to use
it----"

"You mean the ambulances?"

"Yep. They spot us. We run without lights, you know; but every once
in a while they drop a shell there. They h