Lucy and Julia were sitting on the Gordons' piazza floor filling comfort kits, while Marian and William sorted out pencils and shoe-laces and writing paper and safety-pins. All four had stopped working just now to speak to Mr. Harding, who came out of the house and sat down by them while he waited for Major Gordon, who had returned from his office only to start out again.

"Who are these for?" asked the young officer, looking at the neat little cloth bags, half-filled with soldiers' luxuries.

"I don't know exactly, but the Red Cross does," said Lucy, tossing back her ruffled hair. "I think all we have sent lately are for the New York troops who join the Rainbow Division."

"They look pretty nice," commented Mr. Harding. "If I had a sister nearer than the Philippines I suppose she'd make me one. I might go across before long myself."

"Oh, of course you can have one!" cried Lucy delighted. "Let's keep out that last one, Julia, and make it up separately."

"How soon do you want it?" asked wily Julia, hoping to hear some news.

Mr. Harding laughed and glanced at the watch on his wrist. "It's half-past four now,—I'll give you till six o'clock."

"Want chocolate in yours?" asked William, looking affectionately at the shiny brown packages waiting to be distributed among the kits.

"Don't I though! Sort of like to join the army yourself, wouldn't you?" inquired Mr. Harding, picking up the little boy and swinging him over his shoulders until he squealed with excitement. "Look out for your feet, now. There wouldn't be much left of your cousin if you came down on top of her," cautioned the young man, setting William down at a safe distance from Marian's golden head.

"I wouldn't hurt her,—she's sick," said William with kindly superiority, catching his breath after his rapid flight through the air.

"I'm not," said Marian quickly, her blue eyes lighting up, but at sight of William's funny little air of condescension her lips wavered to a smile, and for a moment she forgot herself and joined in the others' laughter.

"Marian's almost well now, William," said Lucy, to smooth things over, and Mr. Harding, getting up at sound of a footstep inside the hall, asked:

"Can you believe Bob will come home an officer in two weeks, Lucy? I can't—he seems such a kid."

"Doesn't he?" said Lucy, pausing thoughtfully in her work, her brother's tall figure and boyish face before her eyes. "Well, I wish I were an officer."

"Lucy," said Mr. Harding, "I think we'll have to make you Captain by courtesy of the Twenty-Eighth. Would you like that?"

"Would I!" exclaimed Lucy, her eyes shining. "Oh, you are joking."

"Never more serious in my life," said Mr. Harding, his eyes twinkling, as he came to a stiff salute. "Captain Lucy!" And Lucy, a little breathless and self-conscious, returned it amid the pleased exclamations of the two girls and William.

"Here's the Major, so good-bye." Mr. Harding waved his cap with a smile and turned to join the older officer who came out of the house, papers in hand.

"All good little war workers, aren't you?" remarked Major Gordon, feeling for his glasses. "Come along, Harding," and the two set off briskly down the walk.

Lucy, aglow with the realization of the honor which had just been conferred upon her, scrambled over to pick up the kit reserved for her friend, when through the window opening on the piazza appeared Karl's bushy, black head and heated face.

"Your mother not back yet from town, Miss Lucy?" he inquired.

"No, she isn't, Karl. What's the matter?"

"I not disturb the Major," explained Karl volubly, "but without an order I can nothing from the dispensary get, and Elizabeth feel very bad."

"Oh, does her tooth ache again? I'm awfully sorry," cried Lucy, jumping to her feet. "I'll go and speak to her, Karl."

Lucy ran indoors and up to the little dormer-windowed rooms on the third floor. Elizabeth lay on her bed, her aching cheek buried in the pillow and a heavy down-quilt spread over her, notwithstanding the day's sultry heat. In spite of her pain she managed a faint smile and a murmur of welcome as Lucy dropped to her knees beside her.

"It's too bad, Elizabeth! Just tell me what to get, and I'll go right over to the dispensary. Perhaps I'd better ask the steward there what is best for a toothache. He'll know. But first, I'll bring you Mother's hot-water bottle."

"Oh, Miss Lucy, it is good so!" sighed poor Elizabeth gratefully, when the hot bag was pressed against her burning face. "I never have such an ache,—never."

"Well, stay right there while I go after something for it," said Lucy hopefully, and she made for the stairs, down which she ran at headlong speed.

"Is Elizabeth very sick, Lucy?" asked William, running anxiously up when his sister reappeared on the piazza. The kind, affectionate German woman was a friend to all the Gordon household.

"No, William, but I'm going over to the dispensary after something for her. I'll be right back, Julia," she added, turning to the two girls who were tying up the last of the comfort kits.

"All right. Don't rush around so fast, Lucy. You'll blow up some day," remarked Julia, peaceably fastening a tape. "I have to go home anyhow."

Ten minutes later Lucy returned armed with a little bottle and a camel's-hair brush, and met her mother in front of the steps.

"Oh, I'm so glad you are back, Mother. Do come up and see Elizabeth when you get your things off, won't you?" and Lucy drew her mother into the house, relieved at the arrival of efficient help and advice.

Mrs. Gordon managed before long to make Elizabeth as comfortable as an aching tooth would allow, and sent Lucy down to fill some of the gaps in the housekeeping arrangements.

"I'll finish with Mr. Harding's kit in a few minutes," Lucy said to Marian while she was giving William his supper, "and Mat can take it over to the Bachelor's Quarters."

Mat was the Gordons' good-conduct or "parole" man, one of whom is allotted to the service of each officer, from the military prison on the post, that they may earn a little money before their term expires.

"I'm going to put some postal cards in the kit, addressed to me," Lucy added, speaking a little doubtfully. "Perhaps he'll laugh, but we're all so anxious to hear news after they go, and it will be easy enough for him to mail one."

"I think it's a fine idea," said Marian, leaning her elbows on the dining-room table while she listened with more animation in her pretty face than was often seen there. "Wouldn't it be queer to have them come back to you from nobody knows where?"

"You could tell by the postmark," remarked William practically, between spoonfuls of crackers and milk.

Lucy laughed, but she whispered to Marian, "Let's not talk about it any more, now," remembering William's gaping ears and her own assurance to Mr. Harding that her surmises about their departure would go no further.

Mrs. Gordon stayed for some time longer with Elizabeth, and when she did come down she heard Lucy moving about inside her room, and stopped at the door.

"Here's a letter I had from Bob, Lucy. I know you wish to read it. I met the postman on the boat."

"Oh, thanks, Mother," said Lucy, letting her hair, which she held ready to tie, fall back over her shoulders as she took the envelope eagerly from Mrs. Gordon's hand. She snatched out the letter and sank down on her sofa by the window to read in comfort.

"Of course you're all coming up for graduation," Bob wrote. "Don't forget how soon it is,—I can't remember it myself. If you don't hear from me before then it's only because we have so much to do that no day is half long enough. In these few months since war was declared they have been trying to put most of next year's work into our heads, as well as some of the new things the Allies have learned about fighting. Besides all that, I have helped edit this year's 'Howitzer.' We've combined the real class of '17 and our own class into one book, with their consent,—since we graduate only four months after they do. It's going to be a corker, too. I had my picture taken last week for it, and will send you one, if Lucy won't still say my hair looks like a scrubbing-brush.

"I'm awfully glad to get your letters, even if I don't write, and I'm crazy to see you all again. We spend most of the time we have, which isn't much, wondering what we'll do after graduation, and every one has his own little idea of what will happen to him,—nothing dull for any of us, I expect. Only we don't know anything for certain except the good news that we graduate in two weeks, so we're feeling like the fellow in the song who says, 'Oh, joy! Oh, boy! Where do we go from here?'

"I know this much, anyway, that I'm coming to Governor's Island before I go anywhere else, and see everybody and take it mighty easy for a day or two, if I never can again. We are working here, believe me! I was going to say working like dogs, but the only dog around barracks lies in the sun all day and catches flies while we're wearing ourselves to skin and bone. We call him General. Don't take that about the work seriously, Mother. I never felt better in my life. Tell Lucy there's plenty of time for another box of fudge to get here before we leave. Yes, I noticed what she said about her commission in the Twenty-Eighth. Tell her she can't boss me, though.

"Write me just when to expect you up, and everybody come,—you and Dad and Lucy and William, and Marian whether she wants to or not.

"Good-bye and lots of love from

"Bob."

Lucy read the letter through twice, and then sat thoughtfully motionless with it in her hand, while from the parade came the sound of music as some of the companies drilling late marched back to barracks.

This home-coming of Bob's, so brief and uncertain, to last perhaps twenty-four hours,—a week at most, her father thought,—how different it was from the graduation leave she and Bob had planned together. The one that would have come next summer and given him three long months to spend at home before he joined his regiment. Lucy loved to make plans, and she had looked forward to her brother's graduation leave since his second class furlough a year ago. She had decided that she would be old enough to go nearly everywhere Bob went, by that time, for she would be fifteen the same month that Bob would be twenty-one. And now how far off all those things seemed, and how different from reality. Where would Bob be, anyway, a year from now, if the war still went on?

She sat up from among the pillows and folded the letter carefully. Not to borrow trouble is a motto often needed in a soldier's household, and none of the Gordons indulged for long in gloomy ponderings. It was growing dark, too, and Major Gordon was coming up the walk, so dinner would soon be ready.

Lucy did not shake off her thoughtfulness, though, all the evening, even while she discussed the coming trip to West Point cheerfully enough with the rest of the family, and persuaded Marian that she would enjoy herself enough to make up for being tired by the unusual effort. But after she and Marian were in bed she lay long awake, until Taps sounded sweet and clear from the parade and all the house was quiet. Then she did fall gradually asleep, and off into long dreams that lasted until a step outside in the hall made her start suddenly awake. The footsteps turned toward the upper stairs and Lucy, wide awake now, jumped up and ran to the door.

"Is it you, Elizabeth?" she asked softly, peering into the darkness. "What's the matter? Are you worse?"

A dim little figure in a flannel wrapper approached her and Elizabeth's voice whispered, "No, no, Miss Lucy, much better, but I go down for little hot water. I feel good so, with the warm poultice on my face."

"Can't I do anything? I'd like to," Lucy offered, but Elizabeth whispered:

"No, thank you. It was too bad I wake you up. Go back to bed now." She gave her a little push inside the door, and Lucy got into bed, feeling terribly sleepy. But as she turned over the pillow and closed her eyes, all at once she raised her head and stopped breathing to listen.

Outside, somewhere—what was happening, anyway? Something more than the measured tread of the sentry walking slowly along the line. The dim, vague sound was like hundreds of footsteps, muffled and uneven, but moving steadily along.

With fast-beating heart Lucy got up once more, and, raising a screen, put her head out of the window to listen. Beyond the lighted walk the shadowy trees stirred a little in the night air, but nothing else took shape to form the substance of those footsteps that, still swelling in numbers, sounded faintly but unmistakably on Lucy's ears.

"They're behind the Headquarters Building—on the road to the dock," she guessed, wildly trying to collect her thoughts. Then with a sudden decision she quietly lowered the screen and, running softly across the room, began to dress herself hurriedly in the darkness.

Mrs. Gordon's room was at the other end of the hall, and all Lucy's care had been not to wake Marian, for the door between their two rooms was wide open. But as she struggled with refractory shoe-strings she remembered Marian's eager interest of the last few days, and her questions which, while their ignorance of army matters had made Lucy and Julia laugh, were still a welcome change from her weary indifference.

"I don't care if she is delicate," thought Lucy, defiantly. "I don't believe it will hurt her one bit, and I can't be so mean as not to tell her."

With one shoe on she tiptoed into Marian's room and dropped down on the bed beside her. "Marian!" she whispered, giving her cousin's slender little shoulder a vigorous shake that made her start upright in bed with a frightened gasp.

"Oh, who is it? Lucy, is it you?"

"Yes, and the Twenty-Eighth is leaving! Right now,—I hear them marching by. I'm going down to see them off, and you can come if you like,—only I don't think you'd better."

Lucy's caution came rather late to be of much use. Marian was out of bed in a second, and getting into her clothes with a remarkable disregard for convenience and comfort.

"Just tie your hair with a ribbon;—I did," urged Lucy, finishing her shoes, "and hurry, Marian! What if we should miss them!"

"I am hurrying," said Marian.

Lucy felt suddenly enraged at her calmness, and almost wished she had let her sleep on undisturbed. But very soon Marian joined her fully dressed, and as the clock below struck three, the two girls tiptoed down-stairs and out by the unlocked front door.

An army post at night is unlike any other place in the feeling of complete security it gives. This feeling leads the officers to leave their doors and windows always unfastened, and to allow their children to wander freely about on summer evenings. The post is a little world carefully administered, where every inhabitant is known and has his place, and the soldiers are the time-honored friends of the army children.

Lucy looked over toward the Houstons' as she and Marian hurried along, wishing with all her might that Julia were awake. There was no moon, but the sky was bright with stars and the air clear and warm, though Marian shivered with nervous excitement, and her arm shook against the one Lucy had thrust through hers.

At the head of the slope above the dock the two stopped, panting, with a murmur of voices and the never-ending sound of moving feet still in their ears, and stared motionless at the scene revealed dimly below. The whole regiment was assembled on the dock in the starlight; a moving mass of men, at work over piles of bags and boxes, or standing at ease by their rifles, their outlines bulky with the burden of their field equipment, while alongside the dock three big government tugs were waiting with steam up.

For a moment the two girls stood looking down at the men who were going away in darkness and silence to their duty, with no inspiring music for them, nor wives and children to wave them good-bye, for the women of the Twenty-Eighth had obeyed Colonel Andrew's request that the partings be at home, to let the regiment get off quickly and in greater safety. But in another minute Lucy pulled Marian after her down the walk, until they were on the fringe of the great crowd of soldiers. One or two looked around at them in surprise, but Lucy hardly saw or heeded them. Her heart was swelling with generous emotion, and her throat ached intolerably with longing to do something,—anything,—for the aid and comfort, or at least the encouragement of these men of the Twenty-Eighth, so soon to share in the Allies' pain and glory.

But already the gangways were laid and the men filing down them, while others jumped from the wharf upon the decks. They moved without loud commands, as they had marched from barracks, and only a few low voices broke the stillness of the early morning, that sleepy time when even the harbor is almost clear of shipping, and the big city nearly dark.

Suddenly Lucy caught sight of a tall figure standing at the bow of the nearest boat, and without a word she made a rush in its direction, Marian following blindly. Already curious glances were peering at the two children out of the dimness, and Lucy's heart beat with fear that they might be obliged to go before she could bid even this friend good-bye. She stole up cautiously and laid a timid hand on the young officer's arm.

"Mr. Harding," she faltered, "haven't you time to tell us good-bye?"

"Why, Captain Lucy, what on earth,—well, I might have known you'd guess it somehow!" exclaimed the young man, startled but laughing softly as he gave Lucy's hand a hearty clasp. "And Marian got up too? Well, you're a couple of imps, but all the same I can't help being glad to see you. And many, many thanks for the comfort kit. I never thought you'd really get it there in time."

"I put in some postal cards addressed to me," Lucy whispered. "Won't you please send back one when you get over there?"

"Of course I will, Lucy," he promised, glancing round at the boat, which was now filled to overflowing with men and equipment, and ready to put off. "I have to go now, but you'll never know how good it seemed to have some 'family' here at the last minute, and I won't forget to write."

He put one arm about Lucy's shoulders and gave her an affectionate hug, while Lucy, feeling the burden of the war descending heavily upon her, swallowed hard and trusted to the darkness to hide the tears in her eyes. "I'll take care of Bob when he comes," he said in her ear. He gave her a salute, then with a laugh waved his cap for a last good-bye, and jumped on board at the heels of the battalion.

When the boats had moved off through the shadows Lucy and Marian stole quickly home and crept back into the house like timid burglars.

Once up-stairs, Lucy, suddenly grown anxious and remorseful about Marian, helped her cousin to undress and get back to bed, devoutly hoping that no harm would result from her impulsive act. Marian was very silent, but when Lucy turned at last to leave her she whispered from the pillow, "Lucy, I'm glad you waked me," and Lucy, stopping to answer her, felt it a plentiful return for her own kindness to know that Marian had forgotten everything else just then but the wonderful scene they had watched together.

In spite of heavy and conflicting thoughts and fears Lucy soon went to sleep and only woke in bright sunlight as the clock was striking seven. She sat up and rubbed her sleepy eyes, with a sudden weight on her conscience and a desire to get rid of it as quickly as possible.

Her kimono and slippers were within reach, and she put them on and ran down the hall into her mother's room.

"Why, good-morning, Lucy; you're an early bird. I was just going to get up myself," said Mrs. Gordon, propping her head up on her elbow as Lucy plumped down beside her on the bed and gave her a good-morning kiss.

"Well, I have something to tell you, and I thought the sooner the better," explained Lucy. "Perhaps you won't like it much, Mother, but I hope you won't mind."

"Why, what in the world is it?" asked Mrs. Gordon, looking puzzled.

"The Twenty-Eighth sailed last night," said Lucy, talking very fast. "You know Father wouldn't tell us a word, but we guessed it somehow. And last night Elizabeth woke me up walking around, and while I was awake I heard the men marching and I woke Marian, and we went down to the dock and saw them off."

"Lucy,—the Twenty-Eighth gone! and you went down in the night?" cried Mrs. Gordon, astonished.

"I know, Mother, I ought to have asked you, but I was so awfully afraid they would get away before you or Father could decide to let me go."

"But Marian—you took her too?"

"It didn't hurt her one bit, Mother. She is sound asleep now,—I just looked at her on my way out. And she wanted so to see them go. We had talked about it—she and Julia and I. Poor Julia didn't see them after all, so I thought Marian might. And, Mother, we were the only ones to guess,—outside of the people in the regiment, I mean,—and we saw Mr. Harding and told him good-bye."

"Why, Lucy, I'm so surprised I don't know whether I am angry or not. I know you didn't mean any harm, but I don't like your stealing out like that. To think that the Twenty-Eighth has gone so soon! Your father didn't say a word about it."

"I'll promise not to go again without telling you, so won't you forgive me this time?" Lucy pleaded. "And, Mother, Mr. Harding said he would write us from the other side, and he promised that when Bob goes over he will take care of him."

"If he only could," sighed Mrs. Gordon, her thoughts too full for further reproof of her independent little daughter. "Dick Harding was here only yesterday,—I'm glad you did see him to tell him good-bye. He must have wondered how you got there."

"Hardly anybody saw us. We were there only a little while, and they were all so busy. I just had to see them go, Mother, and you would have felt the same way if you had heard them marching in the night."

"Well, dear, I do know how you felt, and I forgive you, but let's pray it doesn't do Marian any harm. Now let me get up, for I want to see how Elizabeth is this morning. There must be many on the post who didn't sleep much last night!"

Lucy got off the bed, and standing thoughtfully by the window, looked over toward the Infantry quarters beyond the parade and watched an early airplane skimming over them.

Marian did not come down to breakfast, and at the table nothing was said about the departure of the regiment, for Major Gordon discouraged any war talk or discussion of army matters at meal time. But afterward Mrs. Gordon followed her husband into his study, while Lucy was speaking to Elizabeth.

"James, to think I never knew of the Twenty-Eighth leaving," she said reproachfully.

Major Gordon stopped lighting his pipe to ask in surprise, "What, have you heard it already?"

"Earlier than this. Do you know Lucy and Marian went down to the dock to see them off? They heard them marching by and guessed who it was."

"Great Caesar!" exclaimed Major Gordon, who was a stickler for regular hours and undisturbed sleep for children, and who was more annoyed by Lucy's escapade than appreciative of her patriotism. "What's got into that child, anyway?"

"Oh, she just wanted to see them," said Mrs. Gordon smiling. "I don't think there was any great harm done. But of course she ought to have asked me."

"She took Marian along, you say? Are you sure she's none the worse for it?"

"It didn't hurt her a speck, Father," said Lucy, who had stolen in and up to her father's side. "Please don't be angry, because Mother has forgiven me and it was such a wonderful thing to see. Marian is sleeping like a top. I'm going to wake her up in a minute."

Major Gordon blew some short puffs of smoke from his pipe and shook his head at Lucy, but he ended by laying a hand on her shoulder and saying relentingly, "Well, we'll have to let it go this time, because I must be off, and if your mother and you don't tell me now what time you will be able to start for West Point next week I'll be too late in telegraphing the hotel."