rls, drawn up in double line,
thrilled with excitement as they passed.

"If one tried to run away would they shoot him?" asked Betty in an awed
voice.

"Yes, the guards have their rifles all ready," replied Marjorie; "if one
tried to escape he'd have a bullet through his back in a second--and
quite right too! What's the matter, Chrissie?"

"Nothing--only it makes me feel queer."

"I feel queer when I remember how many of our own men are prisoners in
Germany," declared Winifrede.

"Quietly, girls! And don't stare!" said Miss Norton. "We ought to pity
these poor men. It is a terrible thing to be a prisoner of war."

"I don't pity them," grumbled Marjorie fiercely under her breath.
"Perhaps they're the very ones who've been fighting Leonard's regiment."

"Yes, when one thinks of one's brothers, it doesn't make one love the
Germans," whispered Winifrede.

"Love them!" flared Marjorie. "I wouldn't consciously speak to a German
for ten thousand pounds, and if I happened by mistake to shake hands
with one--well, I'd have to go and disinfect my hand afterwards!"

"Miss Norton's welcome to them if she pities them," said Betty from
behind.

"Go on, girls, now!" came the teacher's voice, as the contingent tramped
away into the camp.

"I'm disgusted with Miss Norton!" groused Marjorie. "Come along,
Chrissie! What's the matter with you, old sport? Anybody'd think you'd
seen a ghost instead of a batch of Germans. Why, you've gone quite
pale!"

"I'm only tired," snapped Chrissie rather crossly. "You're always making
remarks about something. I'm going to walk with Patricia."

"Oh, all right! Just as you please. I don't press myself on anybody.
I'll walk with Winifrede again if she'll have me."

CHAPTER XX

Patriotic Gardening

The direct result of the potato walk to Mr. Briggs's farm was that a
friendship sprang up between Winifrede and Marjorie. It was, of course,
rather an exceptional friendship, involving condescension on the part of
the head girl and frantic devotion on Marjorie's part. Six months ago it
would not have been possible, for Winifrede's creed of exclusiveness had
discouraged any familiarity with her juniors, and it was only in
accordance with Mrs. Morrison's wishes that she had broken her barrier
of reserve. She had, however, taken rather a fancy to Marjorie, and
sometimes invited her into her study. To go and sit in Winifrede's tiny
sanctum, to see her books, photographs, post cards, and o