Marian missed her father, and felt keenly the disappointment of losing him so soon again, but she looked eagerly forward, with the Gordons, to the success of his mission. Christmas week passed slowly, but on New Year's Day came the welcome news by cable of his arrival on the other side. It was a New Year's greeting that meant more than any good wishes could to those who received it; the knowledge that Mr. Leslie had safely started on his difficult undertaking.

Lucy and Marian had been kept busy during the holidays, for Miss Thomas gave her class three lessons a week during that time, and her pupils had learned enough now to be really interested. She lost no opportunity to make them feel the real importance of their work.

"You don't know how useful you may be before the war is over," she told the girls one day just after the new year. "Every one who can do the least thing well is needed now. The smallest help is that much done, which is not left for some one else to do. Experienced nurses are scarce already, and will be fewer still. Even to know how to keep oneself in good health is worth much. Some of you, young as you are, I feel confident could be of very real help if you were called upon. There is work to be done among children in our hospitals, for instance, for which trained nurses cannot always be spared. Some of you are nearly old enough for such work, if the time comes. Among the younger ones, Lucy Gordon strikes me as a very promising little nurse."

She smiled in Lucy's direction, with a pleasant, direct way she had of giving praise wherever it was due. This was the first time she had picked out Lucy, who was rather overcome for a moment, though tremendously pleased nevertheless. She could not resist a triumphant glance at Julia, which that good-natured young person returned with a broad grin of comprehension.

"Good for you, Lucy! We'll be proud of you yet," whispered Anne. "Perhaps taking care of Marian was good practice for you," she added slyly, for Lucy's energetic perseverance with Marian had often aroused her amusement.

"Yes, she was my first attempt," said Lucy, smiling. "She lived through it, anyhow. Come on, we're going down now."

Miss Thomas was distributing gauze and muslin bandaging for the first-aid demonstration which followed the nursing class.

Lucy was so encouraged by her teacher's praise that she felt equal to anything. She wrapped the bandage about Julia's supposedly injured collar-bone with cheerful ardor, until Julia, cautiously wriggling her shoulder, remarked, "I wish she'd waited until we got through to tell you that. I think you've stopped the circulation. Loosen it up a little."

Lucy burst out laughing, and undid the bandage to suit her exacting patient. "It's you who deserve all the credit," she said candidly. "Any one would have to be a good nurse who had you to fix. Marian lets me tie her up in knots and just grins and bears it until I let her out."

"Well, it's easier sometimes than arguing with you," declared Julia, stretching her arm again with a sigh of relief. "I still think I was right about that sunstroke."

At the last lesson Lucy and Julia had had a hot discussion as to whether the sunstruck person's head should be raised or lowered, which ended in Lucy's spilling all the ice for her patient's head compress over Julia's face as she lay on the sofa. Even after that Lucy refused to give in, and the book, by an annoying confusion of terms, seemed to give neither side satisfaction.

Lucy smiled at the remembrance. There had lots of funny things happened during the course, though such hard and effective work lay behind them, and Lucy thanked Miss Thomas sincerely in her heart for the hours of distraction from worry that the lessons had brought.

It was a lovely clear day, and after luncheon Lucy offered to take William out on his sled, feeling like having a little strenuous exercise. William seemed quite willing to help her get it, for he asked:

"Do you mind pulling Happy, too, Lucy? He gets awfully deep in the snow if he has to walk."

"How about me?" Lucy demanded. "All right, I'll see how heavy you are."

She selected the parade, which had been firmly packed down by the marching men, and drew William and Happy past Colonel's Row and across it. Then, as they came to Brick Row, the sparkling water tempting her, she pulled the sled over the new land toward the sea-wall, a hard tug of half a mile that made her sink down by William's side as they neared the water, with hot cheeks and panting breath.

"Gracious, what a pair of fat lazybones!" she exclaimed, looking at her passengers with unconcealed scorn. "Why don't you get out and stretch your legs? That puppy needs some exercise."

"All right," agreed William, peaceably. "You said you wanted to pull me. Happy would rather walk, anyway," he added in defense of his pet, whom he had been holding on the sled with great difficulty all the way over.

"It's lovely out here in the sun," said Lucy, calming down.

An airplane had risen from the aviation field on their left and was flying at a leisurely rate in their direction. William leaned back on the sled to watch it as it flew over them and on toward Fort Jay. "I guess he's cold," he remarked. "That's what makes him go so slowly."

"Isn't the water pretty, William?" asked Lucy, looking toward the sea-wall, a hundred yards distant.

"Yes. He's coming back now," said William, still watching the aviator, who had circled about Fort Jay and was flying low over the parade at the edge of the new land, seeming to avoid the parade itself, where a few companies were marching out to drill.

Lucy turned from the water to follow the airplane's flight as it swooped down, barely a hundred feet above the earth, its white wings gleaming in the sunlight against the bright blue sky. Suddenly she stiffened. "Why, he's going to land, I do believe, and I think he'll come down on top of us!"

She seized the sled rope and pulled William and Happy off nearer to the sea-wall, while above them the airplane descended in a series of crooked dives to the ground. She could see the aviator pulling madly at his steering gear, as with a final glide the machine came to earth about two hundred yards from the sea-wall.

"Hoo-h!" breathed William, jumping up and down in his excitement.

The pilot stepped out with deliberation, and at sight of his slow walk Lucy recognized him, though his uniform was almost covered by a big sheepskin coat. It was the French aviator, Captain Jourdin, who, though discharged from active service for wounds, had taught since the declaration of war in the American Aviation Schools. He was a familiar figure on Governor's Island, where he spent a part of the time he divided among half a dozen places. His ankle was held in an iron brace, and he limped heavily in walking, but his general activity was not much impaired in spite of it. As he approached the children now, his keen dark eyes were fixed on them with a touch of anxiety.

"I beg a thousand pardons," were his first words as he neared the sled from which Lucy came forward to meet him. "I frightened you, I fear?" He looked from Lucy's face to William's for signs of alarm, while Lucy answered:

"Oh, no, you didn't—honestly. I got out of the way because I wasn't sure where you were coming down." She had never seen the famous young veteran so near before, and she scanned his face with eager interest.

"I did not know where I should land myself," he declared, shaking his head and glancing at the airplane behind him. "It is an old one that they have repaired to use for practice flights. I took it out to see if it would do, but—it will not," he ended in a tone of conviction. "The steering gear was a bit too much for me." He gave a rueful look at his right hand, which he had wrenched in trying to bring the airplane safely to earth. It was already swollen about the wrist.

All Lucy's interest in nursing, fostered by what she had lately learned, sprang into life at sight of the ugly sprain. She was a little shy of the French officer, but she put aside her diffidence and spoke boldly.

"Please let me tie it up for you! I can keep it from swelling any more, and it would be half an hour before you could get to the hospital."

The Frenchman shook his head with a smile, as though about to refuse, but perhaps the eager look in Lucy's face changed his mind. His smile broadened, and he held out his injured hand, saying, "Many thanks, Miss. You are more than kind. May I sit down on the little brother's sled?"

William nodded vigorously, not finding words to reply, and the aviator seated himself, stretching his stiff leg out in front of him.

Lucy's thoughts had not been a second idle. "Elevate the joint if possible and apply heat or cold. Cold may be applied in the form of snow or crushed ice in a cloth." Nothing could be easier to follow than those directions. She took a clean handkerchief from her coat pocket, but at sight of it Captain Jourdin dived with his left hand inside his coat and produced his own.

"This is a trifle larger," he suggested, handing it to Lucy with a twinkle in his eyes.

Lucy was too much in earnest to give more than a nod in return. She took her own handkerchief and filled it with clean snow, scraped from below the surface. Then laying the cold compress carefully about the officer's swollen wrist, she fastened it firmly in place with his handkerchief. The result had a bulky look, but it gave the aching wrist a good deal of comfort, for her patient's voice sounded sincere when he exclaimed:

"That's good! That was just the right thing for it. You seem to be a very wise young lady." He smiled at her as he fingered the snow bandage critically. "Might I ask your name?" he added, as Lucy, feeling shy again after her bold attempt at assistance, flicked the snow from her bare hands with her glove.

"Lucy Gordon," she said, looking up at this; "and my brother's name is William."

"So is mine," declared the Frenchman, with a friendly glance in William's direction, "only I don't say it quite that way. Your father is an officer on the post?" he inquired.

"Yes; a major on the staff," explained Lucy; then, feeling expansive in the presence of a listener who could so well understand her, she added, "My older brother is an aviator. He went to France in the summer and now he is a prisoner in Germany."

"No! A prisoner?" was the quick and sympathetic response, as the dark eyes lighted up with a look of keen interest. "Ah, that is hard!" he said softly; "but your brother did his best for his country, and still his life is spared. We can only hope that soon the war may be won, and our friends come back to us."

Lucy nodded, her eyes sad and wistful for a moment as she said, "He loved flying. He came from West Point only last August, but he was transferred to the Aviation Corps right away. Look, Captain Jourdin—they must be coming after you."

A little group of men had started over from the aviation field, evidently to find out the cause of the aviator's protracted stop, and at sight of them Captain Jourdin rose at once to his feet, signaling with his left arm to reassure them.

"I shall need a mechanic before that machine rises again," he remarked, "so I must go forward and explain to Captain Brent." He turned back to Lucy and held out his unbandaged hand. "You will excuse me," he said, smiling, "if I do not offer you the other. Good-bye and many thanks, Miss Lucie. I shall hope to meet that brother of yours, the aviator, before many long months. My very good wishes for his near and safe return." He held up his bandaged wrist, adding, "It is you I have to thank that this is no longer painful."

"I'm so glad," faltered Lucy, longing, as she shook hands, to ask more about Bob, and what chance Mr. Leslie might have of success.

The Frenchman gave a friendly salute to William, who returned it promptly with his red-mittened paw, and limped slowly off over the snow to meet the advancing officer.

"I wonder if he could have told me anything," Lucy asked herself, wishing she had got up courage to question him further while she had time. "He's had no end of adventures since the war began. Perhaps he's been in a German prison, too."

"Come on, Lucy, let's go. What are you standing there for?" demanded William, stamping his cold feet and looking impatiently at his sister, who seemed lost in watching the departing Frenchman.

"I wonder what he's been through since 1914," Lucy murmured; then, turning back to William and the sled, she picked up the rope, saying, "All right, come on. Suppose you walk until you get warm and then I'll pull you the rest of the way. Happy can do whichever he likes."

"He'd rather walk until I get on," said William, starting along. "Let's stop and look at the airplane first. It can't fly, you know."

All the way home Lucy was preoccupied, thinking of her hurried first-aid dressing, and of whether she had really helped the sprain, then forgetting that, to wish again that she had tried to learn something of Bob's probable whereabouts and chances of liberty.

"If only I may see him again, I'll ask him," she thought, but not very hopefully, for the foreign instructors remained principally on the aviation field, and the officers' children were seldom allowed there.

Lucy could hardly wait, when she got home, to tell her mother and Marian all about it, though she stopped in the middle of her story to look up sprains in her tattered first-aid manual, to see if she had forgotten anything that could have been carried out on the spot. Relieved about that she went on talking, and as she described the French aviator Mrs. Gordon said:

"That's the man Captain Brent speaks so much of. He can't say enough in his praise. He was telling your father the other night about some of his wonderful exploits."

"Oh, I wish I might hear about them! I'll ask Captain Brent," exclaimed Lucy, eagerly.

"That's what I get for staying at home," remarked Marian, who was sitting beside Mrs. Gordon's sewing-table, absently twisting a curl about her finger. "Of course you had to have an adventure, Lucy, when I wasn't there. Interesting things always seem to happen on the coldest days."

"It was my fault this time," said Mrs. Gordon. "I didn't want you to go out again in the cold." She looked at Marian's pretty, regretful face with a smile that had behind it a clear, searching glance. She had feared that Mr. Leslie's departure might prove a trying disappointment, and lead Marian to mope again, but though it was evident that she missed her father, and that he was constantly in her thoughts, Marian's health was now too firmly re-established to suffer seriously. Her father's delight, too, at the change in her, was enough to keep up her interest in her own improvement. Mrs. Gordon looked with satisfaction at the worn skirt of Marian's serge dress, where she had knelt on William's sled, and had crawled over the floor while following Miss Thomas' directions in regard to escaping from a burning house. Her dresses never had known such marks before, but had been given away as good as new at the end of the season. Mrs. Gordon welcomed, in Marian's case, a few of the tears and worn places with which her own children furnished her almost too plentifully.

"I'm going to change it in a minute, Cousin Sally," said Marian, following Mrs. Gordon's glance to her knees. "But I think I'll go and write to Father first; though, from what he said about his address," she added doubtfully, "it's about as definite as writing to Santa Claus."

"Not quite so bad as that," said Mrs. Gordon, smiling, "because he'll get your letters—sooner or later." She was serious again before she finished speaking, and Lucy, guessing her thoughts, knew that she was longing for the day when word from Bob should come, and messages from home could at least reach his prison.

Unable to offer any encouragement worth hearing, Lucy rose from the floor with a smothered sigh, saying, "I need to dress, too. Come on, Marian. That pesky hair of yours looks just as nice as it did at breakfast."

In the evening, to Lucy's delight, Captain Brent came to call, anxious to hear about the progress of Mr. Leslie's journey in Bob's behalf. Lucy could scarcely wait for a chance to ask him about Captain Jourdin.

When the opportunity came she demanded, breathlessly, "Was he badly wounded? Did he do wonderful things first, Captain Brent? Was he ever taken prisoner?"

"One at a time, Captain Lucy," said the officer, laughing. "I know why you're so interested, though. He told me about the excellent treatment his sprained wrist received as soon as the beastly machine came down. I asked who tied it up for him, as he evidently couldn't have done it alone, and he said he had no idea American girls were so accomplished."

"But what did the doctor say who saw the bandage?" inquired Major Gordon, amused.

"I don't know, but it looked pretty good to me. The swelling didn't get any worse, which was what Jourdin wanted," declared Captain Brent, leaning down to play with Happy, who was growling at one of his boots.

"Won't you tell some of the things he's done?" begged Lucy, afraid it would be bedtime before she heard anything.

"Why, it would take a week to tell all of them," said Captain Brent, straightening up again and speaking thoughtfully. "I heard about his service in France from a British officer who was over on Long Island last month. Jourdin would never tell anything. He thinks he made a mess of things—getting out of the fight so early."

"How long was he in the war?" asked Mrs. Gordon.

"Two years, just about. The information he brought back from the German lines was instrumental in winning the Battle of the Somme, according to this Englishman. There is nothing Jourdin would not undertake to do, if the object were worth gaining. His last flight before his discharge was made over enemy territory after he received two bullets in his leg and another through the shoulder. He wouldn't go back until he learned what he was told to find out. But the bones of his ankle were injured beyond repair."

"Was he ever taken prisoner?" Lucy could not help repeating.

"No, never—though he had several narrow escapes when he was forced to go down behind the German lines. His brother, an infantry colonel, is in a German prison now."

"Does he hear from him? Can he get letters?" Lucy questioned eagerly.

"I don't know. I'll ask him if you like. We've never got on that subject."

Lucy's knitting had fallen, forgotten, at her feet, and only Happy's excitement as he grabbed the ball and rolled over on it made her stoop to rescue the sock, while Marian snatched up the puppy from the tangle of yarn. Major Gordon had begun talking to Captain Brent, and Lucy felt she had asked her share of questions, but she longed to find out more about the Frenchman and obtain Captain Brent's promise to learn from him whatever he knew about German prisons. Captain Brent would be glad enough himself, she was sure, to learn something about Bob's fortunes, and he saw the aviator almost every day. However, just then she had to be patient, for Mrs. Gordon drew her attention to the clock, and she and Marian got up and said good-night.

"I wonder if your father has got to Switzerland yet, Marian, or if he has talked to any one about Bob," Lucy asked when they were up-stairs, as she had done nearly every evening since Mr. Leslie's arrival on the other side. She followed Marian into her room and watched her cousin with admiring eyes as she brushed out her golden curls and braided them into two pigtails for the night.

"I don't know, but we'll hear before very long," was Marian's sensible answer, which was not very satisfying to Lucy, though she nodded a faint agreement.

"I never could bear waiting," she remarked, turning to go back to her own room. "Neither can Bob. We'd both rather do anything than expect things that don't happen."

"Perhaps you won't have to wait much longer. I can't help thinking that Father will send good news soon," said Marian, with a hopeful look that cheered Lucy in spite of herself. Marian put on a blue silk kimono and dived into the closet for her slippers while Lucy still stood uncertainly in the doorway.

"The only thing is," she muttered, frowning a little at the thought, "I know Father won't stay here much longer if we don't hear any news. Mother told me this morning that he intends asking for foreign service."

"But can he leave here?" asked Marian, astonished.

"He has one year more on this staff detail, but he thinks they will let him go. They are short of Q. M. officers on the other side. He will go when his detail ends, anyhow—if the war isn't over."

"But perhaps it will be," suggested Marian, looking like a cheerful little prophet wrapped in blue silk.

"Perhaps," said Lucy, smiling faintly at her. "Anyhow, I'd better go to bed."