As Nathalie reached the booth she glanced quickly about; no one was in sight. With a hurried movement she drew a letter from the bag that hung from her wrist, and after glancing at the written words, “To whomsoever this Comfort Kit may come, greetings and good wishes,” she slipped out the enclosure and slowly read:

“Dear Mr. Soldier Boy:

“Please remember that you are going to fight under the banner of the Cross, which means that you belong to a Christian nation whose motto is, ‘In God we Trust.’ Hold to the feeling that you are a gentleman by the culture—not ‘Kultur’—that comes from kindliness, courtesy, and consideration for all people, so please don’t kill anybody unless you have to.

“Don’t forget that you are an American patriot, and that your heart is seared with the Stars and Stripes, which means the red of courage, the white of purity, and the blue of royal devotion to the right, and starred with the divine fire of liberty.

“Remember you are fighting for the mothers and children: yes, fighting so the mothers and children of all nations may have liberty and peace. Be strong and brave in the thought that this war is to maintain the principles back of our flag, the ideals given to us by the founders of this nation. As Christ died to make men holy, so these men suffered and shed their blood that you might have the joy and independence that comes from the liberty which God has given to us. Be happy with the thought that no matter what comes to you you will not have lived in vain, but will have fought for the grandest and greatest things in life,—liberty and humanity. The best of luck to you,

Nathalie returned the letter to the envelope, and then rummaged under a pile of kits that had been filled and fastened, ready for the boys at camp, until she found one way down beneath the pile. She quickly opened it. Then something stayed her hand.

“No, it will not be a wicked thing to do, for it can’t do any harm,” she reasoned doubtfully; “and yet I just hate to do it, but I feel that I must do something to try to help some boy, who, perhaps, has a lagging spirit, whose heart may fail him when he thinks of what is before him, or who, perhaps, fails to realize the greatness of what we are fighting for, the way I did. This letter may spur him on, give him courage to do his best, perhaps, when he realizes the truth. And no one will know who Blue Robin is, and yet it will do for a name, as mother always says it is not considered fair to send an anonymous letter to any one, and I surely would not sign my own.”

Nathalie heaved a deep sigh, and then, as if she would not let herself have any more misgivings, she seized the letter and dropped it into the bag. A moment later she was on her way to the Red Cross booth, to learn who had won the prize for buying the first Liberty bond.

“Oh, Nathalie, Dr. Morrow bought fifteen bonds!” came in an excited chorus from a group of girls, who were standing in front of the booth, chatting excitedly over this unlooked-for event.

“Fifteen? Oh, isn’t that just too lovely,” answered the girl. And then she hastily made her way towards the Morrow group, where the doctor, with the twins clinging excitedly to his coat-tails,—trying to climb up his back, he declared,—was signing the bond-certificate that made each one of them the possessor of five bonds, and his wife the owner of five more.

A Liberty button was now fastened to the doctor’s coat as a guarantee that he was a good patriot, and then he was presented with the prize, a box of Liberty candy from the Girl Scouts’ booth, something he never indulged in, he laughingly asserted, as he stood with the box in his hand, lookingly helplessly at it. But the twins did, and they quickly relieved him of it and were soon blissfully happy as they munched on the sweets.

A good beginning must have brought the girls good luck, for as soon as Mrs. Van Vorst heard of this sale she followed the doctor’s example and invested in ten bonds, five for herself and five for Nita. A few more followed suit, some buying two or three, while others only took one, but every little helped, the girl delightedly cried, jubilantly happy at the many sales they were having. And then a surprise came, as her cousin Lucille pushed her way through those surrounding the booth, and bought three bonds,—one for herself, one for Dorothy, and one for Nathalie.

“Oh, Lucille, don’t do that!” cried distressed Nathalie with flushed cheeks. “It is too much to give me.”

“Indeed, it is not,” insisted Lucille smilingly, who could be very generous at times, as her cousin knew by the gift of her Pioneer uniform. “I think you have worked hard enough for these Liberty Girls to have that much at any rate.” And several must have agreed with her,—judging by the nods and claps that came from those who were standing near and heard this remark.

As Nathalie, sometime later, sat gathering up her certificates,—she had been kept busy all the afternoon making out the little blue and pink receipts that certified as to her many sales,—Lillie came flying up.

“Oh, Nathalie, hasn’t it been a big success!” she cried with gleaming eyes. “And the patriotic speeches and recitations have been just fine. But, O dear!” she added with a sudden note of disappointment in her voice, “there are a lot of things that have not been sold. Of course they will all go to the boys at camp, but I was in hopes that everything would be sold, so as to add to our fund for the bonds.” For those who had purchased that afternoon had patriotically returned the things they had bought, as their donation for the boys at camp, thus giving the girls an opportunity to use the purchase money for Liberty bonds.

“Yes, we have several sweaters and mufflers left,” announced Barbara, who had been talking to Nathalie, “and poor Captain Molly is quite disappointed, as she was so sure that we should sell everything we had.”

“And we have a number of flowers and potted plants that have not been disposed of,” added a Girl Scout in a disappointed voice.

“But we can give those to the hospital,” answered Nathalie quickly, “and give some sorrowful heart a bit of cheer.”

“Well, we have some boxes of candy, too,” added the Girl Scout dolefully, “and they won’t do for the sick ones for—”

“And we have some books left over,” interrupted another bystander.

“Oh, I have an idea, a big one, too,” broke in Helen, her eyes all of a glow. “Why could we not have an auction sale? Of course a good many will return what they buy,—and I think it will be lots of fun.”

This idea was voted a good one, and a few minutes later Dr. Morrow announced from the Liberty platform that he was to act as auctioneer. A few brief words of explanation and the auction was on. First a box of candy was bid for, which, after much laughter, was finally knocked down for one dollar, a much larger sum than it would have brought earlier in the afternoon. A few books were now disposed of, a pile of canned vegetables, a number of comfort-kits, and so on, until everything, even to the posters and decorations, had been auctioned off.

As the girls were counting up the proceeds of this expected sale, old Deacon Perkins came up, and, after a few hems and haws, told the girls that if they wanted to make a raid on his cherry-trees the next morning, they could do so, and carry the fruit to the boys. They were to visit Camp Mills the following afternoon, and present their many donations to the young soldiers.

“Oh, isn’t that jolly good luck!” “Oh, that’s just glorious!” and many similar outbursts of joy caused the old deacon to beam with complacent benignity. The Sport, with a little giggle, whispered to Lillie that she knew old Perkins had never felt so goody-goody in his life before,—he was called the meanest man in town.

“Yes, girls,” admonished Nathalie, after the old deacon had been overwhelmed with thanks, and had gone smilingly on his way, “you will all have to get up very early to-morrow morning if you want those cherries, for you know we are to start for Mineola at an early hour, for it is some drive. Mrs. Morrow kindly offered me her car, so I asked her to be one of the chaperons. Mrs. Van Vorst is the other, and then Grace, you know, will take some of the party in her car.

“I am sorry,” her face sobered a little, “but there will only be room in the three cars for the officers of the Club, and,—yes, I think we ought to ask Marie, Captain Molly,” she explained, “to ride with us, for you know, of course, that she can’t walk far. The rest of you girls will have to go by train, that is, those who want to go.”

“But we all want to go,” called out several voices eagerly, “and we expected to go by train, for Lillie and Helen have given us a time-table, so we shall know just what to do, and we’ll meet you at the camp.”

The raid on the cherry-trees proved “a lark,” Edith declared, as, an hour or so before the girls started in the cars, she and Grace whizzed up in the car, filled with several baskets of cherries. A little later the three cars started for the camp, passing two or three groups of the girls on the road, en route for the depot. But they were soon left far behind as the cars whirled along the Merrick road, every one in the best of spirits, the little newsdealer so buoyantly happy to think that she was riding in the same car with the young president, that it did one good to look at her face, keenly aglow with delight. Nathalie’s eyes were sparkling, too, for the little Jewess had just cried, “Bend down your head, Mees President, for I likes I shall whisper mit you in your ear.” And then, as the girl had smilingly complied, she heard the happy announcement, “My papa, he says like that you iss my friend, und so my papa he buy me a Liberty bond, for he says you are loving now mit me.” The owner of the pink ear into which these words had been loudly whispered, dimpled with pleasure, and then came the thought, “O dear, I wonder if my little liberty lecture had anything to do with papa’s buying the bond?”

There was a short stop at the Military Police guardhouse, to learn the way around the encampment, where several soldier-boys, with the big letters M. P. on their arms, were viewed with much curiosity by the girls. A call at the hostess house now followed, where the gifts for the soldiers—the knitted articles, the books, candy, and fruits—were left, the girls reserving the baskets of cherries to distribute to the boys themselves.

The slow ride through the encampment, with its streets flanked by brown and white tents, reminded Nathalie somewhat of an Indian encampment, and she gazed about with eager interest, as this was her first visit to an army post. The girls were specially interested in the prisoners,—two or three men here and there guarded by a soldier-boy,—who were acting as White Wings by gathering up flying papers, or dÉbris of any kind lying about, while other groups were digging ditches or performing similar duties.

“But see,” cried one of the girls, “the prisoners carry clubs, while the guard in the rear hasn’t any.”

“No, but he carries an automatic pistol in his trousers’ pocket,” answered Mrs. Morrow quickly, who had visited the camp many times; “and if he should fire it, a crowd of soldiers would immediately surround the prisoners and disarm them. And then, too,” she added, “you must remember that these prisoners, as a rule, are not real jailbirds, but just young, thoughtless lads who have probably been punished for what we would consider a very slight misdemeanor.”

But they were now in what Mrs. Morrow called the “chow” quarters, that is, where the mess-tents were. It was quite an interesting sight to see a long line of soldiers, with their plates, cups, and pans in their hands, standing waiting for the “eats” at one of these tents.

The girls, alert-eyed, watched them with more than the usual curiosity, for when they were supplied with food they came straggling out of the line with their “chow” and sat down here and there in groups, while others sat down on the street-curb and began their meal, using their laps for a table. This elicited many exclamations of surprise, especially when their director told them that Uncle Sam’s soldiers were not allowed to sit at tables, but had to dine standing. Their denunciation of this system and their expressions of pity were loud, but when they were told that it was these very hardships to which a boy had to be inured that made him a well-trained soldier, they became somewhat reconciled to what they had seen.

Just at this moment a sudden inspiration came to Nathalie, and, leaning forward, she whispered softly to Mrs. Morrow. That lady smiled and nodded approval evidently, and immediately brought the car to a standstill so that Nathalie and Helen could alight. Going swiftly towards a couple of boys who were sitting on the curb, their eyes bright and keen, and their faces tanned to a rich brown, Nathalie said, somewhat timidly, “I beg your pardon, but wouldn’t you young gentlemen—er—soldiers—” she hastily corrected herself laughingly, “like to have some cherries to eat with your dinner?”

“Most assuredly we would,” responded one of the lads, a tall broad-shouldered chap with dark hair, from whose sun-tanned face two dark-lashed eyes looked down at her, with a half-smile in their blue. The boys had courteously risen and were standing at attention when the girl spoke.

Nathalie’s cheeks took on a deeper pink, and then she turned, and the two girls walked back to the car with the boys in their wake. But unfortunately, as she attempted to lift one of the heavy baskets over the edge of the car, something jarred her elbow, and the next moment the basket had fallen to the ground with the cherries rolling all over the road.

There was a loud shout from the boys, and then a dozen or more khaki-clad figures had rushed to the girl’s assistance, and presently soldier-boys and girls were all scrambling about in the dust of the road, gathering up the fruit. Indeed, by the time it was replaced in the basket,—for, of course, the girls had to polish off the dust from the luscious red fruit—they had all become very merry with one another.

Several minutes later, as the car whirled around the corner of the long street, they saw the soldier lads gathered about the basket, while laughing and joking with one another in good-natured banter. Suddenly one of the boys looked up, and as he spied the now disappearing car he took off his cap and waved it in a parting salute. Nathalie smiled back, for she recognized this good-by as coming from the boy with the dark-lashed, blue eyes.

“Wasn’t that young solider a handsome boy?” queried one of the girls admiringly, as the car flew along the level road. “And what lovely blue eyes he had.”

“Yes, and that boy with the light hair was nice-looking, too,” chimed in Helen. “He had such a frank way of looking you right in the eye. I’ll warrant you he’s no coward.” But the cherries and the boys in the “chow” quarters were forgotten as the girls drove by a group of buglers, who were sitting on the grass near a large tent, practicing on their bugles. Every eye was curiously watchful as the three cars went slowly past, for Mrs. Morrow, who was driving, had slowed up as she saw “the camp alarm-clocks,” as she called them. Every head was bent forward and eyes grew big with alertness, for had the girls not set out that morning with the avowed intention of not missing anything worth seeing, and surely a group of soldier buglers was an interesting feature of the camp.

They were a merry-eyed crowd, those boys with their happy, care-free faces under the brown hats with their gay-colored cords. All on undress parade, Helen declared, as she noted their brown flannel blouses and belts, as they knelt or stood upon the grass, blowing on their golden horns as Captain Molly called their brass instruments.

Evidently they were not worrying about going overseas, or losing their lives in No Man’s Land, but were good examples of live-wire American lads, with the grit inherited from their ancestors, the Yanks, inspiring them to make good when called by Uncle Sam to the job of making war.

The girls were alert and watchful, as they spied into open tents, or behind flying flaps, at the rows of tiny white cots, or at a few stray articles of clothing seen here and there, yes, even a pair of shoes set out in the sun to dry were objects of their silent adoration as they swung along the road.

But now the scene had changed as they whirled along, for, instead of tents, the streets were lined with little wooden houses, or cabins, the barracks of the United States Aviation School at Mineola, which adjoined Camp Mills. A stop at the hostess house was next in order, where a call was sent in for Dick.

Twenty minutes later Nathalie was blithesomely happy, as she and her brother, over in a corner of the little wooden building, chatted about home news,—how mother was getting along, yes, and about the wonderful events that had occurred in the last few days. Then Nathalie turned inquisitor, and Dick was subjected to a series of questions in regard to his life as a war-eagle. In fact Nathalie’s questions were so many and so swiftly put that her brother declared that one would have thought that he was being interviewed by some expert reporter.

Yes, reveille was at five in the morning, followed in half an hour by breakfast. His sister immediately asked, somewhat anxiously, if he got enough to eat.

“You bet your life I do,” was Dick’s laughing rejoinder. “The ‘eats’ are O. K.—nothing to be added. At six,” he continued, “I report at headquarters for flying, and then, with an instructor, learn a few flying stunts. I return to barracks at ten, and from eleven until two-thirty have a ‘do-as-you-please time,’ which includes luncheon, and, generally, a nap, for, by Jove!” exclaimed the young aviator, “this flying business makes a fellow feel drowsy.

“Then we drill for a while, listen to a lecture,” he went on, “and then again for a space I am a bird of the air. We dine about half-after eight, and at ten comes taps, or ‘lights out.’ Anything more you would like to know, young lady?” he inquired teasingly. But Nathalie was satisfied, for surely her brother’s ruddy cheeks, tanned skin, and glowing eyes attested to what he called the “joy-time of his life,” and a few moments later the little party started for the aviation field.

Here Dick conducted them around the field and showed them many kinds of aircraft, as aËroplanes, dirigibles, kite-balloons, serviceable in war; in fact, they were so well instructed as to the uses and mechanism of so many different machines that Mrs. Morrow declared that they would be well-versed in aËronautics. But the little personal stories that Dick told about the heroism of well-known war-eagles over in France made a stronger appeal to the girls, especially when he explained the several varieties of aviators and their special work.

To the girls’ disappointment there was no flying going on while they were on the field, but they were partly appeased when Dick showed them a group of students, aviation observers, he called them, who were learning to sketch from a miniature battlefield, and in this way learn how it would look from the air. As they were about to leave the field they saw some students bringing out a machine, to get it ready for flying, as testing the motor and so on.

At this particular moment one of the girls uttered a sudden cry, and as all eyes glanced upward with newly awakened eagerness, they were rewarded by seeing an aËroplane returning from a training flight. As Nathalie gazed eagerly at the machine that flew like some strange monster above their heads, the perils of flying in space came to her with a sudden, keen realization, and, with a sickening pang as to what might happen to Dick some day, her eyes darkened with apprehensive terror and she turned hastily away. But Dick, catching sight of the girl’s pale face and fear-haunted eyes, as if to divert her mind from dismal forebodings, called attention to the camp mascot, a little yellow police-dog, who was standing by his master, equipped, like him, with goggles. The girls were soon laughing heartily as Dick told of the dog’s alertness in doing “stunts,” and the eagerness he showed when waiting to take a flight in one of the machines.