ng, too, that impressed Ruth. It was
as though they listened all the time for something. Was it for the
whine of the shells that sometimes came over the ridge and dropped
perilously near the hospital?

As the day went on, however, the girl found that there was considerably
more cheerfulness and light-heartedness in and about the hospital than
she supposed would be found here. Having straightened out her own hut
and supplied the various wards with what they needed for the day, she
went about, getting acquainted.

It was a large hospital and there were many huts. In each of these
shelters were from two dozen to forty patients. A nurse and an orderly
took care of each hut, with a night attendant. Everybody was busy.

There were many visitors, too--visitors of all kinds and for all
imaginary reasons. People came in automobiles; these had passes from
military authorities to see and bring comforts to the wounded. And
there were more modest visitors who came on foot and brought baskets of
jams and jellies and cakes and home-made luxuries that were eagerly
welcomed by the wounded. For soldiers everywhere--whether well or
ill--develop a sweet tooth.

Into the compound about midafternoon Ruth saw a tall figure slouch with
a basket on his arm. It had begun to drizzle, as it so often does
during the winter in Northern France, and this man wore a bedrabbled
cloak--a brigandish-looking cloak--over his blue smock.

She had never seen such a figure before; and yet, there was something
about the man that seemed familiar to the keen-eyed girl.

"Who is he?" she asked a nurse standing with her at the door of a ward,
and pointing to the man slouching along with his basket across the open
way.

"Oh, that? It is Nicko, the chocolate peddler," said the nurse
carelessly. "A harmless fellow. Not quite right--here," and she
tapped her own forehead significantly. "You understand? They say he
lived here when first the Boches used their nasty gas, and he was
caught in a cellar where a gas bomb exploded, and it affected his
brain. It does that sometimes, you know," she added sadly.

Ruth's eyes had followed the chocolate seller intently. Around a
corner of a hut swung the surgeon, who was already the girl's friend.
He all but ran against the slouching figure, and he spoke sharply to
the man.

For an instant the chocolate peddler straightened. He stood, indeed,
in a very soldierly fashion. Then, as the quick-tempered sur