"Sick man!" cried the secretary. "Why, certainly! Why not try the R. A.

M. C.? They've a hospital half a mile up the street. They will certainly help you out. I'll come with you."

"No, you don't," said Barry. "You go back to bed. I'll find the place."

Half a mile up the street, as the secretary had said, Barry came upon the flaring lantern of the R. A. M. C., at the entrance to a huge warehouse, the gate of which stood wide open.

Entering the courtyard, Barry found a group of men about a blazing fire.

"May I see the officer in charge?" he asked, approaching the group.

The men glanced at his rank badges.

"Yes, sir," said a sergeant, clicking his heels smartly. "Can I do anything for you, sir?"

"Thank you," said Barry, and told him his wants.

"We have plenty of biscuits," said the sergeant, "and coffee, too. You are welcome to all you can carry, but I don't see how we can do any more for you. But would you like to see the officer in charge, sir?"

"Thank you," said Barry, and together they passed into another room.

But the officer was engaged elsewhere. While they were discussing the matter, a door opened, and a young girl dressed in the uniform of a V.

A. D. (Voluntary Aid Detachment) appeared.

"What is it, sergeant?" she inquired, in a soft but rather tired voice.

The sergeant explained, while she listened with mild interest. Then Barry took up the tale, and proceeded to dilate upon the wretched condition of his comrades, out in the icy rain. But his story moved the V. A. D. not at all. She had seen too much of the real misery and horrors of war. Barry began to feel discouraged, and indeed a little ashamed of himself.

"You see, we have just come over," he said in an apologetic tone, "and we don't know much about war yet."

"You are Canadians?" cried the girl, a new interest dawning in her eyes.

As she came into the light, Barry noticed that they were brown, and that they were very lustrous.

"I love the Canadians," she exclaimed. "My brother was a liaison artillery officer at Ypres; with them, at the time of the gas, you know.

He liked them immensely." Her voice was soft and sad.

Unconsciously Barry let his eyes fall to the black band on her arm.

"He was with the Canadians, too, when he was killed at Armentieres, three months ago."

"Killed!" exclaimed Barry. "Oh, I am so sorry for you."

"I had two brothers," she went on, in her gentle even tone. "One was killed at Landrecies, on the retreat from Mons, you know."

"No," said Barry, "I'm afraid I don't know about it. Tell me!"

"It was a great fight," said the girl. "Oh, a splendid fight!" A ring came into her voice and a little colour into her cheek. "They tried to rush our men, but they couldn't. My oldest brother was there in charge of a machine gun section. The machine guns did wonderful work. The colonel came to tell us about it. He said it was very fine." There was no sign of tears in her eyes, nor tremor in her voice, only tenderness and pride.

"And your mother is alone now?" inquired Barry.

"Oh, we gave up our house to the government for a hospital. You see, father was in munitions. He's too old for active service, and mother is matron in the hospital. She was very unwilling that I should come over here. She said I was far too young, but of course that's quite nonsense.

So you see, we are all in it."

"It is perfectly amazing," said Barry. "You British women are wonderful!"

The brown eyes opened a little wider.

"Wonderful? Why, what else could we do? But the Canadians! I think they're wonderful, coming all this way to fight."

"I can't see that," said Barry. "That's what that old naval boy at Devonport said, but I can't see that it's anything wonderful that we should fight for our Empire."

"Devonport! A naval officer!" The girl lost her calm. She became excited. "What was his name?"

"I have his card here," said Barry, taking out his pocket book and handing her the card.

"My uncle!" she cried. "Why, how perfectly splendid!" offering Barry her hand. "Why, we're really introduced. Then you're the man that Uncle Howard--" She stopped abruptly, a flush on her cheek. Then she turned to the N. C. O. "Yes, sergeant, that will do," as the man brought half a dozen large biscuit cans and as many large bottles of prepared coffee.

As Barry's eyes fell upon the biscuit cans an idea came to him.

"Will these cans hold water?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir," replied the sergeant.

"Then, we're fixed," cried Barry, in high delight. "This is perfectly fine."

"What do you mean?" asked the girl.

"We'll dump the biscuits, and boil the coffee in the cans. I haven't camped on the Athabasca for nothing. Now we're all right and I suppose we must go."

The V. A. D. hesitated a moment, then she took the sergeant to one side, and entered into earnest and persuasive talk with him.

"It's against regulations, miss," Barry heard him say, "and besides, you know, we're expecting a hospital train any minute, and every car will be needed."

"Then I'll take my own car," she said. "It's all ready and has the chains on, sergeant, I think."

"Yes, it's quite ready, but you will get me into trouble, miss."

"Then, I'll get you out again. Load those things in, while I run and change--I'm going to drive you out to your camp," she said to Barry as she hurried away.

The sergeant shook his head as he looked after her.

"She's a thoroughbred, sir," he said. "We jump when she asks us for anything. She's a real blooded one; not like some, sir--like some of them fullrigged ones. They keep 'er 'oppin'."

"Fullrigged ones?" inquired Barry.

"Them nurses, I mean, sir. They loves to 'awe them--them young 'Vaddies,' as we call them--V. A. D., you know, sir. They keeps 'em a 'oppin' proper--scrubbin' floors, runnin' messages, but Miss Vincent, she mostly drives a car."

While the sergeant was dilating upon the virtues and excellences of the young V. A. D., his men ran out her car, and packed into it the biscuit tins and coffee. By the time the sergeant was ready she was back, dressed in a chauffeur's uniform.

Barry had thought her charming in her V. A. D. dress, but in her uniform she was bewitching. He noticed that her hair clustered in tiny ringlets about her natty little cap, in quite a maddening way. One vagrant curl over her ear had a particular fascination for his eyes. He felt it ought to be tucked in just a shade. He was conscious of an almost irresistible desire to do the tucking in. What would happen if--