The Red Cross rooms were crowded, but Lucy and Julia had managed to find a corner at Mrs. Houston's table.

"Twenty-three, twenty-four," counted Lucy, turning over the neat little piles of gauze squares on the table. "Oh, Julia, how can you do them so fast? I've worked my head off and only made twenty, and now I have to go home before I can brace up and beat you."

Julia laughed, and Mrs. Houston, who sat across from the two girls, said critically, "I think yours are done the better of the two, Lucy, so don't be too discouraged. Julia always puts speed ahead of everything."

"Well, that's the most important thing in this Red Cross work," said Julia in self-defense. "All the doctors tell you that plenty of dressings pretty well done are more useful after a battle than a few of them made to perfection. I tell you what, Lucy, bring the rest of your pile of gauze along and come home to lunch with me. I still have this much left, too, and we can finish it right afterward."

Julia held up a thin pile of pieces, but Lucy shook her head regretfully.

"Can't, Julia. I must go back to Marian. She's a little homesick, I think. She seemed so after her father left yesterday, though she didn't say much."

"Oh, then, can't you play tennis this afternoon, either?" demanded Julia, feeling that her friend was making unnecessary sacrifices.

"No, I'll stay with her and see you at parade. I don't mind. Think how we'd feel, Julia, if we were dropped down into some strange city, where nobody knew or cared anything about the army."

Julia laughed, but she said thoughtfully, "We'll have to make her like it here, Lucy. I know we can. Well, be sure to come out later."

"Oh, yes," nodded Lucy, putting on her hat over her tumbled hair. "May I take these home to finish, Mrs. Houston? I'll bring them back to-morrow. Good-bye."

Leaning all the morning over a work-table seemed to make Lucy hungrier than even outdoor exercise, and at luncheon, to which they sat down promptly when Major Gordon came in, she was too preoccupied to notice Marian very much. Mrs. Gordon had been helping Marian arrange things in her room and unpack her clothes, and having had quite a pleasant little talk with her, and decided that she was not terribly homesick, was disappointed to see her take hardly any more interest in her food than she had the day before.

"Don't you like shepherd's pie?" she asked as Marian refused the dish passed to her. "Why don't you try a little?"

Marian silently obeyed by taking a spoonful, which lay quite untasted on her plate while she munched a little bread and butter.

"But you aren't eating it, dear," insisted Mrs. Gordon. "Don't you find it good?"

"Oh, yes, Cousin Sally," answered Marian politely. "It's very nice indeed, but I'm not hungry."

Marian's careful bringing up by a French governess, surrounded with every advantage of foreign travel and good associations, had given her an outward semblance of good manners, which had, however, no real obedience or docility behind them. Mrs. Gordon said nothing more for the moment, and changed the subject by asking William where he had been on his walk around the island with Elizabeth, after they had taken some papers and magazines to the soldiers in the post hospital. But after luncheon when Lucy and Marian had gone out on the piazza and sat down at a table to finish the pile of gauze, Mrs. Gordon took out her sewing and seated herself near them.

"It isn't very hard, Marian," Lucy began, responding promptly to a faint suggestion made by Marian before luncheon that she would like to learn to make dressings, and spreading out a piece of gauze after a critical glance at her fingers.

"Take this silver knife,—I brought out two,—to pat it smooth with. Now fold it over, so, and fold it the other way,—twice. Then smooth it flat and it's all done. I'll show you again."

"Marian," said Mrs. Gordon, looking at her little cousin's delicate profile that looked so pretty as she bent over her work, "I am going to speak to you right now about the way you sit at our table and eat nothing. Why, my child, I can't let you spend the summer here and make no better meals than you have been doing. You need your food as much as Lucy does,—more, because you have your health to build up."

Marian had turned her head to listen, and as Mrs. Gordon paused she said, doubtfully, "Why, I'm not very hungry, Cousin Sally, except once in a while."

"That's because your appetite has got used to being coaxed and encouraged while you were ill. I dare say there are a few things that you particularly like and are willing to eat. But I mean you must learn to help it along for yourself by trying to eat what a girl your age ought to. I'm sure you want to do everything you can to get well soon, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I do," said Marian quickly, while her brows met in an uncertain frown, as though her ill-health were a tiresome burden which she would gladly be rid of, but to which she had grown so accustomed that it now seemed impossible to throw it aside.

"I know a little exercise would make you hungrier," Mrs. Gordon went on, "and while riding would be too violent on our army horses, even if the airplanes didn't frighten them too much to make it safe, I think a little tennis wouldn't hurt. Oh, Marian, how beautifully you've done that!"

Lucy had held out for her mother's inspection a smooth, almost perfect little square which Marian had just added to the pile. Mrs. Gordon, always more willing to praise than to find fault, was delighted at her success in the delicate art of making neat compresses, and said so, enthusiastically.

Marian smiled with pleasure, and bent over her work again, her bright hair falling about her shoulders and her thin, little fingers busy, while Lucy, glancing up, thought to herself as she patted and poked, "She is pretty, and if I could just shake her and wake her up, and get her acting like a regular girl, I'd like her."

"Lucy," said Mrs. Gordon, looking at her daughter's completed pile, "I want you to walk over to Headquarters now, and bring back a letter Father wants to show me."

"All right, Mother. Will you come, Marian?" asked Lucy, getting up with a jump from her prolonged quiet.

"No, I guess not," Marian answered, hesitating for a second over her refusal, but deciding in favor of what required least effort.

"I'll take William," said Lucy, going out on the grass, where the little boy was sitting cross-legged, carefully shelling peanuts for an impatient squirrel who would much rather have done it for himself.

"O-oh, Lucy, isn't he a pig!" asked William, catching sight of his sister as he began ruefully sucking his thumb where the greedy squirrel had nipped it, and ungratefully darted off over his shoulder with a flirt of his big tail in William's face.

"You ought to let him have it whole. He can shell harder things than we can. Come on, hurry," said Lucy, holding out her hand. "We're going over to Father's office a minute."

They cut across the grass, and in five minutes reached the long, yellow brick building near the head of the slope above the dock, William's little bare legs twinkling along as fast as he could work them beside his sister's swift pace, for Lucy always seemed to be making up for lost time.

Entering the building, she opened a door off the corridor into a room where a soldier sat over a desk covered with papers.

"Good-afternoon, Sergeant Cameron," she said, as the "non-com" sprang up and stood at attention, except for the friendly smile on his face. "Is Father in his office?"

The Sergeant opened the door of the inner room and ushered them through. "The Major has gone into Colonel Horton's office for a moment, but he will be back directly. Take a seat, Miss Lucy. No, I can't play now, little Major." This was added in an undertone to William, whose resemblance to his father had earned him this title, and who could not understand why his friend the Sergeant was so severe at work when he was so very friendly at other times.

Lucy dropped into the revolving chair in front of her father's desk and glanced idly at the papers spread out before her. They were long columns of figures at one side of the sheet, with before them lists of articles of every description for the food and equipment of Uncle Sam's soldiers, into the hundreds of thousands of barrels and boxes and dozens and hundredweights. Half guiltily, Lucy turned away her eyes, for her quick fancy brought before her on the instant the companies of marching men in close-ranked files that those supplies were meant to accompany. Julia's eager questions came back with a rush of swift conviction.

"The Twenty-Eighth is going this week, surely," she thought to herself, and struggled with her conscience whether to look again to see if the papers gave any definite names or dates, when the door opened and a young infantry officer came in, with a letter in his hand, and said, with a quick jolly smile:

"Hello, Lucy, how are you? Your father sent me to bring you this letter. He had it with him, and he can't come back right away. At least, he told me to give it to Sergeant Cameron, but I thought I'd like to see how you and William were."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Harding," said Lucy, taking the letter from his hand, the eager questions which she had been asking herself a moment before now trembling on her lips. The Lieutenant was a great friend of the Gordon family, and Lucy felt emboldened to try her luck.

"Mr. Harding," she burst out, "do you,—you don't think I am a chatterbox,—I mean that I tell everything I know,—do you?"

The young officer laughed, though he looked his surprise, and his brown eyes twinkled as he said, "Why, not quite so bad as that, Lucy. I never said so, anyway, so why the row with me?"

"Oh, I know you didn't say so," Lucy assured him hastily. "I'm only asking you if you don't think I can keep a secret; because I know I can." Then before Mr. Harding could answer she persisted, "Is the Twenty-Eighth going over this week? Won't you tell me?"

Mr. Harding smiled at the flushed and eager face lifted to his, but the smile was a thoughtful one as he answered, "You must think the Colonel takes me into his confidence. What put that idea into your head?"

"Oh,—lots of things," said Lucy impatiently. "You won't tell me, will you?"

"Supposing that I knew something to tell, and the orders were secret—would you expect me to?"

Lucy's eyes lighted up and she smiled at her friend with a sudden satisfaction. "No, I wouldn't, and I'm a silly goose to bother you, but I wanted dreadfully to know, and no news will ever be spread through me or Julia."

"Well, I don't see any news to spread," remarked Mr. Harding, opening the door, "except that I shall have a warm reception from the Major if I stay palavering with you and William any longer."

"Thanks for coming," said Lucy as they passed through the outer room, where Sergeant Cameron stood rigidly at attention, only this time with no smile on his immovable face, as the young officer passed him to bid good-bye to the Gordons at the door.

"It's funny," Lucy thought on the way home, when William had run on ahead, finding his sister too quiet to be good company. "We want so much to do a lot to help, and we can do so little. Now I know they are surely going, for Mr. Harding would have denied it otherwise,—but I don't know just when."

An airplane from the aviation field at the far end of the island passed noisily overhead, and Lucy watched it wistfully, as it flew off toward Sandy Hook through the clear sky, with that mysterious longing to share in great adventures that sometimes stirs every normal fourteen-year-old heart. At last she gave a sigh and came down to earth, having bumped rather hard into some of the bushes by the General's gate-post, and made that gentleman smile curiously at her as he came out of his door.

"I'll go home and see how Marian is," she said, forgetting her puzzled thoughts and starting to run. "I guess that's all I'm good for."

Back at the house, Lucy found the piazza deserted and went inside and out to the kitchen, where the cook, who was Elizabeth's husband, Karl, told her that Mrs. Gordon had gone to take some jelly to Sergeant Cameron's wife, who had been ill several days.

"The little sick girl is up-stairs, I think, Miss Lucy. She not go with your mother, I know."

Lucy ran up-stairs and through her own room into Marian's. "Oh, here you are," she panted, breathless. "I've been wondering where you were. Aren't you coming out to parade?"

"Yes, I'm getting dressed now," said Marian, who was tying her curls with a blue ribbon as she stood before the glass in her petticoat. "Will you button my dress for me, Lucy? I was waiting for Elizabeth to come down from her room."

"Of course I will," said Lucy, taking the fine white frock laid on the bed and slipping it carefully over Marian's thin little shoulders. "Oh, Marian, you do look lovely!" she could not help exclaiming when she had finished the row of tiny buttons. "What a perfectly darling dress that is."

"Oh, no," said Marian, laughing at her cousin's burst of enthusiasm, for she was too used to having numberless pretty clothes, which her father bought to coax her into an interest in going about, to think much of them. But Lucy, wandering over to the closet where a dozen more dresses hung, suddenly became painfully aware of her own mussed-looking middy blouse and skirt, and of the hair blown about her face.

"I'll get dressed myself in a jiffy, Marian," she said, darting into her own room, where she performed the sometimes neglected function of dressing for the afternoon with more than usual care. When she came out ten minutes later and joined Marian down-stairs, her soft fair hair was smoothly brushed and tied, and she wore a fresh summer dress free from the ravages made by squirrels' feet.

"Now, we'll go," she said, leading the way outdoors, as from the parade behind Colonel's Row the band of the Twenty-Eighth struck up a lively march.

Over the broad expanse of green, as Lucy and Marian drew near, twelve companies were marching in close-ranked lines, for the whole regiment was on parade, and a crowd of people were gathered about the iron benches behind the reviewing officer. The women of the Twenty-Eighth, as well as many of the General Staff officers with their families, were watching the khaki-colored ranks of well-drilled men as they swung about in response to the orders heard clearly above the music, and formed into a long, double line facing the Colonel. As the music stopped, Lucy's eyes turned from the regiment to the faces of the people about her, and in their quiet voices and serious eyes she felt that she read her own and Julia's thoughts, of the few days left for the Twenty-Eighth to remain in peaceful America.

Julia had found Lucy and Marian at once, and in a minute the three were joined by General Matthews' daughter, Anne, who was just home from a visit and so glad to be back that her jolly, rosy-cheeked face was aglow with smiles and she gave Marian's little hand a hearty shake of welcome. Julia had seen but a glimpse of Lucy's cousin the day before, and now she was prepared to make a thorough acquaintance.

"I'm so glad you feel better, Marian," she said in a friendly way. "There's such a lot to see here now, I know you want to be able to do everything."

No one could look at Marian's lovely face, framed in its pale gold curls, and at her delicate, dainty little self without a touch of pity and liking, and Julia decided in her impulsive mind that if Lucy's cousin was to remain at the Gordons' all summer, the only thing to do was to let her share in all their plans and treat her as a friend.

"Did Lucy tell you what we think, Marian?" she asked when the three were standing again by themselves, Marian's wide eyes fixed on the lines of soldiers with a keener interest than she had yet shown. "We think," Julia lowered her voice, "the Twenty-Eighth is going before this week is over."

"Where?" asked Marian quickly, a sudden look of animation in her face, as she turned at Julia's words. As though in answer to her question the band burst into life and the regiment began to march.

"Over there...
Over there..."

The words sang themselves into the music as the lines swung again into companies before the Colonel's silent watching figure.

"For the Yanks are coming...
The Yanks are coming...
And we won't come back
'Til it's over,—over there!"

Marian's lips formed the stirring words and her eyes, expressive and intelligent enough when her interest was aroused, sparkled with swift understanding.

"But, Lucy," she asked with a new wonder, "why aren't you sure? Is it a secret to every one outside of the regiment?"

"Not quite,—some of the staff officers have to know. But to us it is, or rather supposed to be, for I'm just as sure of it as though Colonel Andrews had turned around and told me his orders had come." Lucy spoke with serious face and lowered voice.

"Not even the enlisted men know the exact day until within twenty-four hours of it," added Julia. "The officers only tell them to get ready. Of course, there's nothing like safety first, but who is there on this post to be afraid of? Not many enemies, I'm sure."

"Why, the Gordons have two Germans right in their house," said Marian, looking at Lucy.

"Elizabeth and Karl?" asked Lucy, astonished. "Why,—of course they are Germans by birth, but they've lived years in this country. Karl has been Father's servant since the Spanish war, Marian, and Elizabeth thinks we are her own children sometimes, I believe. No matter if they leave us when we move to a new post they always turn up again and come back. Oh, I know they're all right."

"We can't suspect every German we know," agreed Julia. "Look at the Schneiders, who keep the store on the dock. They were so afraid of being told to go when war was declared, but General Matthews decided they might stay. Mrs. Schneider cried on Mother's shoulder when she heard it, and said she didn't know what would have become of them if their business had been ruined."

"We must go home," said Lucy, as the last of the regiment marched away and the crowd of people began to disperse. "Mother told me not to keep Marian out long, and the sun is setting as fast as it can. To-morrow is the first of August. Just think, Julia, how soon Bob graduates! A whole year earlier than he ought." Lucy bit her lip a second and turned to meet her friend's bright, understanding eyes. "I can't feel very glad about it. It's Bob I think of when we watch the Twenty-Eighth get ready for 'over there.'"