The young people of America had few illusions when war was declared in the spring of 1917. The war in Europe, with its hideous beginning and terrible progress, was more or less familiar in detail. It was no unknown adventure that our soldiers faced. Photographs or pen pictures of the trenches and their horrors had been public since that August of 1914. Ah, the gallant young Americans of 1917 and 1918! With smiles and jests, or with faces of deadly earnestness, our boys sang and marched, or rode toward the thing that had to be done. For a cause, and with a purpose, the youth of that generation offered themselves. We have had some sickening revelations since the war, but none that cast a shadow on the young generation that fought our battles then.

No other days of romance or chivalry ever gave more of effort, courage, and the sacrifice of all the human heart holds dear than those days when America’s heart was in France, and her eyes following a map with the advance of American forces.

Greycliff days went on as usual in the class-room, though war was declared and the reading of the morning paper became one of the exciting moments of the day. “When would the boys go?” was the question of chief importance. Some time after the Glee Club concert, Betty received a telephone message from Donald Hilton, asking if he could see her in the afternoon after classes, or in the evening before study hour. “It is very important,” said he. “Will Miss Randolph permit me to call?”

“I’ll find out, Donald, and let you know. I think she will.”

Later Betty telephoned that Donald might come between dinner and study hours, and at the appointed time he arrived, having cut short his own meal to get to Greycliff in time, and being excused properly at the academy. He met Betty in the hall, and they stood talking there, while Alma took his card to Miss Randolph and returned with it for Betty.

Donald was full of repressed excitement. “I had to come to see you, Betty—before I take French leave of the school—in more senses than one!”

“What!” exclaimed Betty. “You’re going to enlist now!”

“Yes,” replied Donald, “I’m going.”

“Do you mean without telling your folks?”

“Yes, without telling anybody but you.”

Betty was touched by his confidence, but said earnestly, “Donald, don’t you do it! Go home first and see your father and mother and sisters. You will regret it if you don’t.”

“If I tell them, they will try to keep me from going, or at least until the end of the school year. Of course Mother would not give her consent, anyway, even if Father were willing.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Betty. “And I think it would be dreadful to go without saying goodbye.”

“Oh, I’d get off, probably, to say goodbye before I went to France.”

“You don’t know what might happen. Here is Alma. Thank you, Alma. Come on, Donald, to the bench at the end of the hall. We’ll not be interrupted there. The girls will be singing and playing in the parlors.”

Donald and Betty walked to the end of the corridor, past the reception rooms, to where a long, old-fashioned bench filled part of an alcove, by the large windows which looked out upon the wood.

“Now,” said Betty, “tell me all about it.”

“I have to go, that’s all,” said Donald grimly. “I can’t study. Nobody can at the academy. The commandant is as stirred up as anybody, though he tries not to show it. We heard that he is trying to get back in the regular army and go to France with the first troops. Van Horne is going, and Maxwell, as soon as they can. They are enlisting with the National Guard, and are only waiting to do it till they can arrange about the school. They don’t want to leave the commandant in the lurch. But there will be precious few of the older boys left to teach, and school closes soon anyhow. They are going to hurry up the work and Commencement, they say now. Some of the boys say that the school will close, but nobody knows for sure. I’ll not miss much.”

“Donald,” said Betty soberly, “I’d be the last one to say ‘don’t go,’ but, honestly, I think that you might take time enough to write home about it. Because you boys are full of patriotism—that isn’t going to get you to France any sooner. And until the camps get started, where could you get better military training than right here in a military school?”

“That is so, Betty, but perhaps some of us can help in the training, and we’d like to get into the real stuff!”

“I think that your mother will consent to your going, since you are so nearly of age, and perhaps she would not care about your finishing the school year, either. You see, my cousins from Canada are in the war, and I know how my aunt feels. Please promise me to write to your mother!”

Donald changed position, looked thoughtfully at Betty, and smiled as he replied, “I think a good deal of your advice, but I must go.”

“It will not hinder your going. And even if you do go later without the consent of your family, it will be different from not even having written!” Thus persuaded Betty.

“If I wait, may I have a picture of you, Betty, to take with me?”

Betty flushed a little as she replied, “Why, yes, you may, if you want one. If you come over again, I’ll bring down what I have, big pictures and snapshots, and you can take your choice. You would want a small picture, wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” said Donald, patting his left hand pocket, while Betty blushed again. “All right, I’ll wait and write to mother, and will you let me come over on Saturday afternoon to tell you the results? And perhaps you could have the pictures ready, too. Will that do?”

“Of course it will do. I’m so glad, Donald! It will be much better. Your mother will feel so much better about it.”

“Someway, Betty, I don’t feel in quite so much of a hurry to leave when I’m with you,” said the frank Donald, “I’ll have one more good Saturday afternoon with you, and perhaps, if it is not stormy, we can have a boat ride. Can you get permission?”

“I’ll ask. There are the girls, Donald; look out of the window.”

Cathalina, Lilian and Hilary were passing, coming from the direction of the little wood on the hill, and waved their field glasses gayly as Betty tapped on the window.

“Did you say that Captain Van Horne is leaving soon? I wonder if Cathalina knows.”

“He and Maxwell go as soon as possible. You see, they are right up in military drill and discipline, and will make valuable officers.”

“Lilian and Cathalina haven’t heard from Philip, and Hilary hasn’t heard from Campbell for days, and they are sure that there is some reason—though both boys promised their parents that they would finish the school year and get their diplomas. You see, they graduate this year.”

“Oh, graduate! What is school in comparison with this?”

While Donald and Betty talked, the three girls who had passed came down the hall, Cathalina with a telegram in her hand. “Do you suppose they’ll care?” asked Lilian, thinking about how little she and Philip would want to be interrupted when time together was so short.

“Of course, they won’t,” said Cathalina, “for we’ll not stay but a minute. Donald will be interested, I think. Excuse me, people,” she continued, as they joined Betty and Donald, “but I have just received a telegram from Philip, and Lilian has another one. Hilary had one from Campbell, too, and they are coming on to see us Saturday!”

The girls had all greeted Donald, Cathalina with a bow as she spoke, while Donald had risen and brought up a chair or two to face the bench.

“Some more folks going to war,” remarked Donald.

“Yes, that must be it,” assented Cathalina. “These telegrams are all from New York, and it is not vacation. I imagine that they have gotten permission to leave school and are going to enlist.”

“I am sure of it,” said Lilian. “Phil’s last letter was chiefly a protest against his promise.”

“Campbell wrote that he was released from his,” said Hilary. “His mother said that ordinarily education was the most important thing for young people. But when a boy was of age and felt it his duty to go, he should not be bound by a promise.”

“Some of us who are not of age want to go,” said Donald, “and if you are interested, I’ll tell you what a time we are having at the school.” At Donald’s urging, the girls sat down, while Donald related the latest news and hearsay at the academy, and Cathalina’s rather sinking heart was encouraged when she learned that the young captain whom she admired so much was not leaving without time for a word of farewell for her before he left. Would he come over to see her? was the question in her mind. The study bell rang while they talked, and all the girls walked along with Betty and Donald toward the entrance, leaving them there to make their adieux, while they went on up to Lakeview Suite.

It was not long before Betty joined the other girls and sat down in their midst, finding them with no idea of studying. Lilian was lying on the couch which made the window-seat. Hilary was sitting with both elbows on the study table, and Cathalina was in a rocking chair, facing her. “Look here, Betty,” said Lilian, and as Betty went over toward her she held out her left hand, on which the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled. “Mother sent it to me. Wasn’t it dear of her! It will make things easier when Philip comes. But it makes me sick about everything. We were going to have such a wonderful time this summer!” Lilian closed her eyes and put her hand over them. The ring flashed as it caught the light from the electric lamp on the table, but Hilary switched it off as she noticed Lilian, remarking that as nobody was going to study right away they would not need it.

“Cheer up, Lil,” said Betty. “We don’t know much of what is coming, I guess, but it doesn’t help any to look ahead. Maybe some of the things won’t happen at all.”

“We were all going to the sea-shore together,” said Cathalina, “but, of course, Father has been telling us that this was coming.”

“Yes, it isn’t as if we had not been thinking of it,” said Hilary, “and I don’t see how we can help anything by worrying. We’ve got to stand by the boys. Let’s get to work at those lessons pretty soon.”

“All right,” said Lilian, jumping up. “Cathalina and I telegraphed right back to Philip, and Hilary to Campbell, so there’s no need of letters. They’ll be here almost before we could get one to them. By the way, Betty, there was a letter for you. We brought it up. It is on your side of the dresser. I forgot it. We stopped and got our mail, and there was this ring for me, so I promptly forgot everything else!”

Betty ran into the bedroom and, turning on the light there, sat down on the bed to read her letter. Then out she came, the letter in her hand. “More news,” said she. “My brother’s enlisted.”

At that moment there was a rap, and Isabel came in, also holding a letter and looking somewhat disappointed. She began to laugh as soon as she was fairly settled, however, and began to tell the girls why. “Did you ever see such an old goose as I am!” she exclaimed. “Here I wrote to Jim, all excited, for fear the boys were going to France next week or something, and now that Jim has written they aren’t I’m disappointed!”

“They aren’t at a military school, are they?” asked Betty.

“No. Jim wrote that he and father had made too much of an effort to help the boys through school for them to miss the rest of the school year; so they will finish. And Jim said that according to the statements of the government, the draft was going to be just as honorable, since they can only equip and send over a certain number anyhow; so there was no use in getting stampeded and throwing away the education you might be getting. Listen to this: ‘Don’t worry, little sister. They are not going right over, because the government probably can’t use them now and isn’t ready to train them yet. But remember that we are as patriotic as anybody and when the time comes we’ll all be there, and I hope to go, too.’ Poor Jim, with a family on his hands. Father isn’t a bit well since Christmas.”

“We have just decided, Isabel, that we are going right on with our lessons as well as our limited brains will let us, keep steady, and hope that we can help the boys, and do whatever turns up. It’s all so mixed up now, with things happening all the time.”

“I think that is very sensible, Betty,” replied Isabel. “I’m going back to begin now. But I couldn’t resist telling you girls.”

“You must let us tell you our news before you go,” said Lilian, “and I want you to see my ring. Mother is going to let me wear it now.”

“Oh, Lilian, are you really engaged?”

“I really am. It happened at Christmas, but Mother thought that she would prefer my not wearing a ring or announcing it generally. But I suppose she didn’t have the heart to keep me from wearing it when Phil came home to enlist. She likes him so much, and he is really so irresistible!”

The girls smiled at that, and Cathalina said: “The ring came in the evening mail.”

“My, but it is a beauty!” exclaimed Isabel, turning Lilian’s little fist this way and that to catch the light of the flashing gem, for the darkness had come outside, and their lamp was again burning.

The eventful Saturday finally came. The girls had arranged a little picnic as the best way of getting away from the busy surroundings at Greycliff Hall. Hilary had thought of it, and suggested that they take the horses. “We have never had a picnic like that,” said she, “and those prancing steeds need some exercise, anyway. Philip and Campbell ride beautifully, and, of course, Donald and Captain Van Horne do, too.”

“Captain Van Horne!” exclaimed Cathalina. “Do you expect me to invite him to take me out?”

“No, of course not, but Donald can ask him if he wants to go and there isn’t any doubt whom he would ask to go with him, is there?” Hilary looked at Cathalina with twinkling eyes.

“Oh!” said Cathalina.

Captain Van Horne came over himself to ask Cathalina. She telegraphed in time to Philip for both guests to bring “riding togs,” and asked Miss Randolph if they might carry out the idea. Miss Randolph consented, appointed Patricia West and Dr. Norris as chaperones, and said that one of the grooms should accompany the party.

“She was just as interested,” said Cathalina. “I believe that she wants to see Philip and Campbell!”

“Why shouldn’t she?” asked Hilary and Lilian at once.

“We’d better have Prince and Pepper for the boys, don’t you think?” continued Cathalina. “They have the most style.”

“They are the prettiest horses we have,” assented Lilian, “but I don’t know that I’d call them stylish, exactly. But don’t get Poky, whatever you do.”

“We may have to take whatever they give us,” said Hilary.

“Well, I’m going to see the riding master,” said Cathalina, “and explain that we want the nicest horses they have.”

“Donald and Captain Van Horne will bring their own horses, won’t they?” asked Hilary.

“Oh, yes,” replied Betty. “And Donald said that he and Captain Van Horne thought it would be better to take our dinner at Greycliff Village or wherever we are, instead of packing any lunch.”

“I know that Phil and Campbell will prefer it,” said Cathalina.

Some of the people at Greycliff Heights were much impressed by the arrival of what Hilary called, quoting from her CÆsar, “two youths of culture and valor,” at Greycliff Inn. Philip had brought Louis along to look after everything. “My last trip with a valet,” he told Lilian. “Louis and I are going to enlist together.”

The train came in early Saturday morning, and the boys wasted no time after breakfast, but telephoned to Greycliff Hall and later took a taxi out there. Miss Randolph invited them to stay for lunch, and while the two young men rather disliked the idea of lunching with so many fair damsels, they accepted for the sake of Cathalina, Lilian and Hilary, who were not averse to having the girls see them. “I’m so proud of you,” whispered Cathalina on one side of Philip, as they sat at Miss Randolph’s table.

After lunch, the two guests went back to the village to get ready for the trip, and the groom took over the horses. It was a sunshiny, cloudless day, a fresh breeze blowing from the lake, the birds singing, the fields green, and the picnic party as happy as could be.

“I’m going to take the advice of the poet,” said Philip, “and ‘gather rosebuds while I may.’ Let’s have this day to remember, Lilian.”

The rest were in the same mood. They followed the bridle path through the woods along the lake, toward Greycliff Village, then, by a little country road, took a gallop over the hills in another direction. The groom knew all the roads and directed them to the most attractive parts of the country. A great part of the time, the young people jogged along in pairs, saying part of the many things they had to say to each other in the time that seemed so short. In one lovely spot they all dismounted and strolled about, sat on logs or stumps, or picked the wild flowers, for nearly an hour. Hilary had swung her field glasses about her neck, and she and Campbell made up her list of spring birds, with many new ones.

Donald had, as usual, much to relate to Betty. He pinned violets on his “pansy girl,” although she declared that flowers were not appropriate to a riding habit. “I’m surely glad that I took your advice, Betty,” said he. “I would not have missed this picnic and ride for the world. And when Father and Mother and both the girls wrote me the fine letters they did, I was ashamed of thinking that I would go off without telling them. It is going to be all right. Father asked me, if I felt I could, to wait and see when the school would close, since I had told him that it might close earlier. He would very much like me to finish the year and get my credits and come home to see them. Then if I want to enlist, all right; and he said that he would not forbid my doing it at any time. But it is only a little while to wait, so I’ll do what they want me to.”

“I’m so relieved,” sighed Betty.

“On their account, I suppose,” said Donald, pulling down his mouth at the corners, in pretended resignation.

“On my own, too,” said Betty, laughing, and jumping up from the stump where they had been sitting, to run to her horse. “They are going. Didn’t you hear Miss West’s whistle blow? She has one of those referee whistles along.”

“What kind of a whistle?” laughed Donald.

“One that the referees blow when we have basket ball or anything.”

Philip had asked to be the host at Greycliff Inn, where the party had dinner. The village was enough of a country town to be able to furnish the finest of foods, if it lacked some of the city ideas. The inn was a new place, clean and quiet, with pleasant parlors, where they visited until called to dinner, ordered beforehand by Philip. Here the visiting was general. As Captain Van Horne and Dr. Norris were nearly of an age, Cathalina found herself drawn into conversation with them, and discussing, as she told the girls afterward, “things she didn’t know anything about.”

Then came the canter home in the twilight. Philip and Campbell were to stay over Sunday, leaving early Monday morning. Captain Van Horne was leaving, with Lieutenant Maxwell, very shortly, but expected to visit Greycliff before that time. Captain Van Horne confirmed the rumor that the military school was to close earlier than the time noted in the catalogue. Donald announced to Betty that he was coming over to Greycliff every time he could get off until he left for home—with her permission.

“You have a standing invitation,” replied Betty, “and I think that Miss Randolph will be good to all our ‘departing heroes’!”

Lilian and Philip, though they had the best horses, lagged behind the rest, till Cathalina had to gallop back and tell them to hurry if they were to get in by the study bell, as directed. And just as they entered the grounds it rang.