It was the same chivalrous and humane General who posted a proclamation at Namur on August 25th as follows: "Before 4 o'clock all Belgian and French soldiers are to be delivered up as prisoners of war. Citizens who do not obey this will be condemned to hard labor for life in Germany. At 4 o'clock a rigorous inspection of all houses will be made. Every soldier found will be shot.***The streets will be held by German guards, who will hold ten hostages for each street. These hostages will be shot if there is any trouble in that street.***A crime against the German Army will compromise the existence of the whole town of Namur and every one in it." Did not Field Marshal von der Goltz issue a proclamation in Brussels, on October 5th, stating that, if any individual disturbed the telegraphic or railway communications, all the inhabitants would be "punished without pity, the innocent suffering with the guilty"? Individual guilt being thus a matter of minor importance, Dr. Zimmermann had no occasion on the accepted theory of Prussian militarism to justify the secret trial and midnight execution of Edith Cavell. Indeed, he freely intimates that his Government will not spare women, no matter how high and noble the motive may have been which inspires any infraction of military law, and to this sweeping statement he makes but one exception, namely, that women "in a delicate condition may not be executed." But why the exception? If it be permitted to destroy one life for the welfare of the military administration of Belgium, why stop at two? If the innocent living are to be sacrificed, why spare the unborn? The exception itself shows that the rigor of military law must have some limitation, and that its iron rigor must be softened by a discretion dictated by such considerations of chivalry and magnanimity as have hitherto been observed by all civilized nations. If the victim of yesterday had been an "expectant mother," Dr. Zimmermann suggests that her judges and executioners would have spared her, but no such exception can be found in the Prussian military code. "It is That her case had its claims not only to magnanimity, but even to military justice, is shown by the haste with which, in the teeth of every protest, the unfortunate woman was hurried to her end. Sentenced at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, she was executed nine hours later. Of what was General Baron von Bissing afraid? She was in his custody. Her power to help her country—save by dying—was forever at an end. The hot haste of her execution and the duplicity and secrecy which attended it betray an unmistakable fear that if her life had been spared until the world could have known of her death sentence, public opinion would have prevented this cruel and cowardly deed. The labored apology of Dr. Zimmermann and the swift action of the Kaiser in pardoning those who were condemned with Miss Cavell indicate that "Greatness," wrote Aeschylus, "is no defense from utter destruction when a man insolently spurns the mighty altar of justice." This is as true to-day as when it was written more than two thousand years ago. It is but a classic echo of the old Hebraic moral axiom that "the Lord God of recompenses shall surely requite." The most powerful and self-willed ruler of modern times learned this lesson to his cost. Probably no two instances contributed so powerfully to the ultimate downfall of Napoleon as his ruthless assassination under the forms of military law of the Duke d'Enghien and the equally brutal murder of the German bookseller, Palm. The one aroused the undying enmity of Russia, and the blood that was shed in the moat of Vincennes was washed out in the icy waters of the Beresina. The fate of the poor German "A cold curiosity carries the visitor to the battlefields of Marengo, Austerlitz, Wagram, Leipsic, Waterloo; he wanders over them with dry eyes, but one is shown at a corner of the wall near the foundations of Vincennes, at the bottom of a ditch, a spot covered with nettles and weeds. He says, 'There it is!' He utters a cry and carries away with him undying pity for the victim and an implacable resentment against the assassin. This resentment is vengeance for the past and a lesson for the future. Let the ambitious, whether soldiers, tribunes, or kings, remember that if they have At the outbreak of the war Miss Cavell was living with her aged mother in England. Constrained by a noble and imperious sense of duty, she exchanged the security of her native country for her post of danger in Brussels. "My duty is there," she said simply. She reached Brussels in August, 1914, and at once commenced her humanitarian work. When the German army entered the gates of Brussels, she called upon Governor von Luttwitz and placed her staff of nurses at the services of the wounded under whatever flag they had fought. The services which she and her staff of nurses rendered many a wounded and dying German should have earned for her the generous consideration of the invader. But early in these ministrations of mercy she was obliged by the noblest of humanitarian motives to antagonize the German invaders. Governor von Luttwitz demanded of her that On another occasion, when appealing to a German Brigadier-General on behalf of some homeless women and children, the Prussian martinet—half pedant and half poltroon—answered her with a quotation from Nietzsche to the effect that "Pity is a waste of feeling—a moral parasite injurious to the health." She early felt the cruel and iron will of the invader, but, nothing daunted, she proceeded in the arduous work, supervised the work of three hospitals, gave six lectures on nursing a week and responded to many urgent appeals of individuals who were in need of immediate relief. "Others she saved, herself she could not save." When one of her associates, Miss Mary Boyle O'Reilly, who has recently contributed a moving account of Miss Cavell's work, was expelled It was undoubtedly in connection with this humanitarian work that she violated the German military law by giving refuge to fugitive French and Belgian soldiers until such time as they could escape across the frontier to Holland. For this she suffered the penalty of death, and the validity of this sentence, even under Prussian military law, I will discuss later. It is enough to say that no instinct is so natural in every man and woman, and especially in woman with the maternal instinct characteristic of her sex, than to give a harbor of refuge to the helpless. All nations have respected this instinctive feeling as one of the redeeming traits of human nature and the history of war, at least in modern times, can be searched in vain for any instance in which anyone, especially a woman, has been condemned to death for yielding to the humanitarian impulse of giving temporary refuge to a fugitive It is true, as suggested by a few in America who sought to excuse the Cavell crime, that Mrs. Surratt was tried, condemned and executed because she had permitted the band of assassins, whose conspiracy resulted in the assassination of Lincoln and the attempted murder of Secretary Seward, to hold their meetings in her house; but the difference between this conscious participation in the assassination of the head of the State, in a period of civil war, and the humanitarian aid which Miss Cavell gave to fugitive soldiers to save them from capture is manifest. I am assuming that Miss Cavell did give such protection to her compatriots, for all accessible information supports this view, and if so, however commendable her motive and heroic her conduct, she certainly was guilty of an infraction of military law, which justified some punishment and possibly her forcible detention during the period of the war. To regard her execution as an ordinary incident of war is an affront to civilization, and When the German Chancellor made his famous speech in the Reichstag on August 4th, 1914, and admitted at the bar of the world the crime which was then being initiated, he said: "The wrong—I speak openly—that we are committing we will endeavor to make good as soon as our military goal has been reached." Within a few weeks the military goal was reached by the seizure of practically all of Belgium and by the voluntary surrender of Brussels to the invader, and since then, for a period of fourteen months, the Belgian people have been subjected to a state of tyranny for which it would be difficult to find a parallel, unless we turned to the history of the Netherlands in the Sixteenth Century and recalled its occupation by the Duke of Alva. It must be It may also be the fact that the present oppression of Belgium is marked by some approach to the forms of law; but it may be doubted whether the difference is not more in appearance than in reality, for the administration of law in Belgium has been a mockery. Of this there can be no more striking or detailed proof than the protest which was presented to the German authorities on February 17th, 1915, by M. LÉon ThÉodor, the head of the Brussels bar. The truth of this formal accusation may be fairly measured by the strong probability that the brave leader of the Brussels bar would never have ventured to have made the statements hereinafter referred to to the German Military Governor unless he was reasonably sure of his facts. What he said on behalf of After stating the fact "that everything about the German judicial organisation in Belgium is contrary to the principles of law," and after showing that Belgian civilians were punished for the violations of law which had never been proclaimed and of which, therefore, they knew nothing, the distinguished President of the Order of Advocates says: "This absence of certainty is not only the negation of all the principles of law; it weighs on the mind and on the conscience; it bewilders one, it seems to be a permanent menace for all, and the danger is all the more real, because these courts permit neither public nor defensive procedure, nor do they permit the accused to "This is arbitrary injustice; the Judge left to himself, that is, to his impressions, his prejudices, and his surroundings. This is abandoning the accused in his distress, to grapple alone with his all-powerful adversary. "This justice uncontrolled, and consequently without guarantee, constitutes for us the most dangerous and oppressive of illegalities. We cannot conceive justice as a judicial or moral possibility without free defense. "Free defense, that is, light thrown on all the elements of the suit; public sentiment being heard in the bosom of the judgment hall, the right to say everything in the most respectful manner, and also the courage to dare everything, these must be put at the service of the unfortunate one, of justice and law. "It is one of the greatest conquests of our history. It is the keystone of our individual liberty. "What are your sources of information? "Besides the judges, the men of the Secret Service and the denouncers (in French: 'dÉlateurs'). "The Secret Service men in civilian clothes, not bearing any insignia, mixing with the crowds in the street, in the cafÉs, on the platforms of street cars, listen to the conversations carried on around them, "These denouncers of our nation are ever multiplying. What confidence can be placed in their declarations, inspired by hate, spite, or low cupidity? Such assistants can bring to the cause of justice no useful collaboration. "If we add to this total absence of control and of defense, these preventive arrests, the long detentions, the searches in the private domiciles, we shall have an almost complete idea of the moral tortures to which our aspirations, our convictions, and our liberties are subjected at the present time.*** "Will it be said that we are living under martial law: that we are submitting to the hard necessities of war: that all should give way before the superior interests of your armies? "I can understand martial law for armies in the field. It is the immediate reply to an aggression against the troops, repression without words, the summary justice of the commander of the army responsible for his soldiers. "But our armies are far away; we are no longer in the zone of military operations. Nothing here menaces your troops, the inhabitants are calm. "The people have taken up work again. You have bidden them do it. Each one devotes himself, Magistrates, Judges, officials of the provinces and cities, the "However, this calm does not mean that they have forgotten. "The Belgian people lived happily in their corner of the earth, confident in their dream of independence. They saw this dream dispelled, they saw their country ruined and devastated, its ancient hospitable soil has been sown with thousands of tombs where our own sleep; the war has made tears flow which no hand can dry. No, the murdered soul of Belgium will never forget. "But this nation has a profound respect for its duty. It will always respect it. "Has not the hour come to consider as closed the period of invasion and to substitute for the measures of exception the rules of occupation as defined by international law and the treaty of The Hague, which sets a limit to the occupying power and imposes obligations on the country occupied? "Has not the hour arrived to restore the Court House to the judiciary corps? The military occupation of the Court House is a violation of the treaty of The Hague. "Among the moral forces does one exist that is superior to justice? Justice dominates them all. As ancient as humanity itself, eternal as the need of man and nations to be and to feel protected, it is the basis of "Belgium raised a magnificent temple to Justice in its capital. "This temple, which is our pride, has been converted into barracks for the German soldiers. A small part of it, becoming smaller every day, is reserved for the courts. The Magistrates and lawyers have access to it by a small private staircase. "Sad as are the conditions under which they are called to administer justice, the Judges have decided, nevertheless, to sit. The Bar has co-operated with them. Accustomed to live in an atmosphere of deference and of dignity, they do not recognize themselves in this sort of guard-room, and, in fact, justice surrounded with so little respect, is it still justice?" As this dignified and noble protest did not lead to any amelioration of the harsh conditions, a month later the same brave jurist, M. LÉon ThÉodor, appeared in Brussels before the so-called "German Court of Justice" and, in behalf of the entire Magistracy of Belgium, addressed to the Prussian Military Judges the following poignantly pathetic and nobly dignified address, which met with the same reception as the preceding communication. The address reads as follows: "I present myself at the Bar, escorted by the Counsel of the Order, surrounded by the sympathy and the confidence of all my colleagues of Brussels, and I might add of all the Bars of the country. The Bars of LiÈge, Ghent, Charleroi, Mons, Louvain, Antwerp have sent to that of Brussels the expression of their professional solidarity and have declared that they adhere to the resolutions taken by the Counsel of the Order of Brussels.*** "We are not annexed. We are not conquered. We are not even vanquished. Our army is fighting. Our colors float alongside those of France, England and Russia. The country subsists. She is simply unfortunate. More than ever, then, we now owe ourselves to her body and soul. To defend her rights is also to fight for her. "We are living hours now as tragic as any country has ever known. All is destruction and ruin around us. Everywhere we see mourning. Our army has lost half of its effective force. Its percentage in dead and wounded will never be obtained by any of the belligerents. There remains to us only a corner of ground over there by the sea. The waters of the Yser flow through an immense plain peopled by the dead. It is called the Belgian Cemetery. There sleep our children by the thousands. There they are sleeping their last sleep. The struggle goes on bitterly and without mercy. "Your sons, Mr. President, are at the front; mine as well. For months we have been living in anxiety regarding the morrow. "Why these sacrifices, why this sorrow? Belgium could have avoided these disasters, saved her existence, her treasures, and the life of her children, but she preferred her honor." Not long after this second protest, M. LÉon ThÉodor was arrested, deported to Germany and if now living, is suffering imprisonment for the offense of defending the oppressed civilian population from a system of espionage, drumhead courts-martial and secret executions, which in their malignity should excite the professional jealousy of Danton, Marat and Robespierre. It was in this manner that the lofty promise of the German Chancellor that his country would make good the wrong done to Belgium has been kept. Such was the condition of affairs in Belgium when Edith Cavell was arrested on August 5th, 1915. About the same time some thirty-five other prisoners were similarly arrested by the military authorities, two-thirds of whom were women. The arrest was evidently a secret one for it is obvious that for a time Miss Cavell's friends knew nothing of her whereabouts. Even the American Legation, which had assumed the care of British citizens in Belgium, apparently knew nothing of Miss Cavell's whereabouts until it learned after a second inquiry the fact of her arrest and the place of her imprisonment from the German Civil Governor of Belgium on September 12th, 1915. As Miss Cavell was a well-known personage in Brussels, it is altogether unlikely that the fact of her arrest and imprisonment would have been unknown to the American Legation in Brussels if the fact of her arrest had been a matter of public information on August 5th or shortly thereafter. In other words, if the arrest had been an open and notorious one, it seems to me unlikely that the American Embassy would have been wholly without information on the subject and when the friends of Miss Cavell found an opportunity to send some information as to her disappearance to the British Foreign Office, it seems unlikely that they would not have given more specific details. Evidently some information had reached the Foreign Office as to Miss Cavell's disappearance, for on August 26th Sir Edward Grey requested the American Ambassador in London to ascertain through the American Legation in Brussels whether it was true that Miss Cavell had been arrested, and it seems clear from the diplomatic correspondence that the American Legation at Brussels knew nothing of the matter until it received this inquiry from the American Ambassador in London. The fact of her arrest by the German military authorities must have been known, but the place of her imprisonment and the nature of the charges against her were apparently withheld. This feature of the case and the manner in which Mr. Brand Whitlock, the American Minister, was prevented from rendering any effective aid to Miss Cavell, presents one aspect of the tragedy which especially concerns the honor and dignity of the United States and should receive its swift and effectual recognition. Her secret trial and hurried execution was a studied affront to the American Minister at So secret was Miss Cavell's arrest and so sinister the methods whereby her end was compassed, that the American Minister in Belgium was obliged to write on August 31st to Baron von der Lancken, the German Civil Governor of Belgium, and ask whether it was true that she was under arrest. To this the German Military Governor did not even deign to make a reply, although it was clearly a matter of life and death. The discourtesy of such silence to a great and friendly nation needs no comment, and will Not hearing from Baron von der Lancken, our Minister on September 10th again wrote to him and again asked for a reply. He asked for the opportunity "to take up the defense of Miss Cavell with the least possible delay." To this, Baron Lancken deigned to reply by an ex parte statement that Miss Cavell had admitted "having concealed in her house various English and French soldiers, as well as Belgians of military age, all anxious to proceed to the front. She also acknowledged having supplied these soldiers with the funds necessary to proceed to the front and having facilitated their departure from Belgium by finding guides to assist them in clandestinely crossing the frontier." The Baron further answered that her defense had been intrusted to an advocate by the name of Braun, "who is already in touch with the proper German authorities," and added: "In view of the fact that the Department of the Governor General as a matter of principle does not It will thus be seen and will hereafter appear more fully that in advance of her trial Miss Cavell was kept in solitary confinement and was denied any opportunity to confer with counsel in order to prepare her defense. Her communication with the outside world was wholly cut off, with the exception of a few letters, which she was permitted to write under censorship to her assistants in the school for nurses, and it is probable that in this way the fact of her imprisonment first became known to her friends. The fact remains that the desire of the American Minister to have counsel see her with a view to the selection of such counsel as Miss Cavell might desire, was refused, and even the counsel whom the German Military Court permitted to act, was denied any opportunity to see his client until the trial. The counsel in question was a M. Braun, a Belgian advocate of recognised standing, but for some reason, which does not appear, he was unable or Except for the explanations made by the German Civil Governor, we know very little as to what defense, if any, Miss Cavell made. From one of the inspired sources comes the statement that she freely admitted her guilt, and from her last interview with the English clergyman it would appear that she probably did admit some infraction of military law. But from another German source we learn the following: "During the trial in the Senate Chamber the accused, almost without exception, gave the impression of persons cleverly simulating naÏve innocence. It was not a mere coincidence that two-thirds of the accused were women. "The Englishwoman, Edith Cavell, who has already been executed, declared that she had believed as an Englishwoman that she ought to do her country service by giving lodgings in her house to soldiers and recruits who were in peril. She naturally denied that she had drawn other people into destruction by inducing them to harbor refugees when her own institute was overtaxed." From this meagre information we can only infer that Miss Cavell did admit that she had sheltered some soldiers and recruits who were in peril, and while this undoubtedly constituted a grave infraction of military law, yet it does not present in a locality far removed from the actual war zone a case either of espionage or high treason, and is of that class of offenses which have always been punished on the highest considerations of humanity and chivalry and with great moderation. The difficulty is that the world is not yet fully informed what defense, if any, Miss Cavell made, or whether an adequate opportunity was given her to make any. The whole proceeding savours of the darkness of the mediaeval Inquisition. We have already seen that even if Miss Cavell's counsel, M. Kirschen, endeavored in good faith to make an adequate defense in her behalf, it was impossible for him to see her in advance of the trial, and M. Kirschen admitted this when he explained to the legal counsel of the American Embassy that "lawyers defending prisoners before a German Military Court were not allowed to see their clients before trial and were not permitted to see any document of the prosecution." It is true that M. Kirschen so far defends the trial accorded to Miss Cavell as to say "that the hearing of the trial of such cases is carried out very carefully and that in his opinion, although it was not possible to see the client before the trial, in fact the trial itself developed itself so carefully and so slowly that it was generally possible to have a fair knowledge of all the facts and to present a good defense for the prisoner. This would especially be the case of Miss Cavell, because the trial would be rather long, as she was prosecuted with 34 other prisoners." This explanation of M. Kirschen is amazing to any lawyer who is familiar with the defense of men who are charged with a crime. Here Still more remarkable is his explanation that as his client was to be tried with 34 others, the opportunity for a defense would be especially ample. As the writer had the honor for some years to be a prosecuting attorney for the United States Government and therefore has some familiarity with the trial of criminal causes, his opinion may possibly have some value in suggesting that the complexity of different issues when tried together, and the difficulty of distinguishing between various testimony, naturally increases with the simultaneous trial of a large number of defendants. Where each defendant is tried separately, the full force of the testimony for or against him can be weighed to some advantage, but where such evidence is intermingled and confused by the simultaneous trial of 34 separate issues, it is obvious, with the fallibility of human The trial was apparently a secret one in the sense that it was a closed and not an open Court. Otherwise how can we account for the poverty of information as to what actually took place on the trial? The court sat for two days in the trial of the 35 cases in question, and the American Legation had been most anxious, in view of the nature of the case and the urgency of the inquiries, to ascertain something about the trial. The outside world apparently knew little or nothing of this wholesale trial of non-combatants, most of them being women, until some days thereafter, and the only intimation that the American Legation previously had was a letter of "a few lines" from M. Kirschen, stating that the trial would take place on October 7th. Notwithstanding the assurance of M. Kirschen that he would keep the American Legation fully advised and would even disclose to it in advance of the trial "the exact charges that were brought against Miss Cavell and the facts concerning her that would Having no word from M. Kirschen as late as October 11th (his last communication with the American Legation being on October 3rd), the counsel for the Legation twice called at his house and again failed to find him in or to receive any message from him. It is clear that if M. Kirschen had advised the American Legation as to the developments of the trial on October 7th and 8th and had further advised the Legation promptly as to the conclusion of the trial and its probable outcome, there is a reasonable possibility that Miss Cavell's life The significant fact remains that the American Legation never heard that the trial had taken place until the day after, and then only learned it from "an outsider." Had the American Legation sent a representative to the trial, the world would then have a much clearer knowledge upon which to base its judgment; but when M. Deleval suggested his intention to attend the trial, as a representative of the Legation, he was advised by M. Kirschen that such an act "would cause great prejudice to the prisoner because the German judges would resent it." What an indictment of the court! Even to see a representative of the American Government at the trial, in the interests of fair play, This does not give the lover of fair play a great deal of comfort, for if the anonymous informant was not a lawyer, the value to be attached to his or her estimate of Kirschen's plea must be regarded as doubtful. The same unknown informant told the American Legation that Miss Cavell was prosecuted "for having helped English and French soldiers as well as Belgian young men to cross the frontier and to go over to England." It is stated on the same anonymous authority that From the same source the world gets its only information as to the exact law which Miss Cavell was accused of violating. Paragraph 58 of the German Military Code inflicts a sentence of death upon "any person who, with the intention of helping the hostile power, or of causing harm to the German or allied troops, is guilty of one of the crimes of paragraph 90 of the German Penal Code," and the only pertinent section of paragraph 90, according to the same informant, is the specific offence of "guiding soldiers to the enemy" (in German—"Dem Feinde Mannschaften zufÜhrt"). I affirm with confidence that under this law Miss Cavell was innocent, and that the true meaning of the law was perverted in order to inflict the death sentence upon her. I admit that a general and strained construction of the language above quoted might be Keeping in mind this elementary principle, it is obvious that the offense of guiding soldiers to the enemy refers to the physical act of guiding a fugitive soldier back into his lines. A soldier becomes detached from his lines. He finds shelter in a farm house. The farmer, knowing the roads, secretly guides him back into his lines, and this obviously is the offence which paragraph 90 had in mind, for the German word "zufÜhrt" refers to a personal guidance. Miss Cavell simply gave shelter to soldiers and in some way facilitated their escape to This fact must have impressed the Military Court, for according to the same informant it did not at once agree upon either the verdict of "Guilty" or the judgment of death, and it is stated that the Judges would not have sentenced her to death if the fugitive soldiers, who had crossed into Holland, had not subsequently arrived in England. But it will astound any lawyer to learn that the subsequent escape of these same prisoners from Holland to England could be reasonably regarded as a guidance by Miss Cavell of these soldiers to England. In all probability Miss Cavell had little or nothing to do with these soldiers after they left Brussels, but even assuming that she provided the means and When she was asked by her Judges as to her reasons for sheltering these fugitives, "she replied that she thought that if she had not done so they would have been shot by the Germans and that therefore she thought she only did her duty to her country in saving their lives." This fairly states what she did, and perhaps this brave and frank reply caused her death. She gave a temporary shelter to men who were in danger of death, and, as previously stated, in so doing yielded to a humanitarian impulse which all civilized nations have recognized as worthy of the most lenient treatment. When, therefore, Herr Dr. Albert Zimmermann, speaking for the German Foreign Office, expressed its "surprise" that Miss Cavell's execution should "have caused a sensation," it is well to remind Dr. Zimmermann that to offer a refuge to the fugitive is an impulse of In the first act of Walkyrie—which is not overburdened with the atmosphere of morality—even the black-hearted Hunding says to his blood-enemy, "Heilig ist mein herd; Heilig sei dir mein haus." (Holy is my hearth! Holy will be to them my house!) It must be remembered that all this did not take place in the zone of actual warfare. A spy caught in the lines of armies is summarily dealt with of necessity. But Brussels was miles away from the scene of actual hostilities. Its civil courts were open and a civil administration ruled its affairs of such reputed beneficence and efficiency as to evoke the ungrudging admiration of a distinguished college professor who bears the honored name of George B. McClellan. There was therefore no possible excuse under international law for a court- In that case the Supreme Court said: "There are occasions when martial rule can be properly applied. If, in foreign invasion or civil war, the courts are actually closed, and it is impossible to administer criminal justice according to law, then, on the theatre of active military operations, where war really prevails, there is a necessity to furnish a substitute for the civil authority, thus overthrown, to preserve the safety of the army and society;***As necessity creates the rule, so it limits its duration; for, if this government is continued after the courts are reinstated, it is a gross usurpation of power. Martial rule can never exist where the courts are open, and in the proper and unobstructed exercise of their jurisdiction. It is also confined to the locality of actual war." All civilized countries, including Germany, have always recognized a difference between high treason, punishable with death, and ordinary treason. The German Strafgesetzbuch thus distinguishes between high treason While this distinction of the German Civil Code may have no application when military law is being enforced, yet it illustrates a distinction, which all humane nations have recognized, between the treason which seeks to overthrow a State by rebellion and lesser offenses against the authority of a State. Assuming that Miss Cavell's offense could be regarded in any sense as treasonable, it certainly constituted the lesser offense under the distinction above quoted. The fact is that Miss Cavell was tried, condemned, and executed for her sympathy with the cause of Belgium and her willingness to save her compatriots from suffering and death. Military necessity—ever the tyrant's plea—demanded a victim further to terrorize the subjugated people. They chose Miss Cavell. Notwithstanding the request of the American Legation in its letter of October 5th that it be advised not only as to the charges, but also as to the sentence imposed upon Miss Cavell, and the express promise of M. Kirschen to inform it of all developments, it was kept in ignorance of the fact that sentence of death had been passed upon her. Minister Whitlock only heard this on October 11th, and he at once addressed a letter to Baron von der Lancken in which, after stating this fact, he appealed "to the sentiment of generosity and humanity in the Governor General in favor of Miss Cavell," with a view to commutation of the death sentence, and at the same time addressed a similar letter to Baron von Bissing, the Military Governor of Belgium, who did not deign to give to the American Government even the cold courtesy of a reply. On the morning of October 11th our Minister heard—not from the German authorities, but from unofficial sources—that the trial had been completed on the preceding Saturday afternoon, and he at once communicated with the Political Department of the German Military Government, and was expressly assured "that no sentence had been pronounced and that there would probably be a delay of a day or two before a decision was reached." The Director of the Political Department (Herr Conrad) gave a further "positive assurance that the [American] Legation would be fully informed as to the developments in the case." Notwithstanding this direct promise and further "repeated inquiries in the course of the day," no further word reached our Legation, and at 6.20 p.m. it again inquired as to Miss Cavell's fate, and the Director of the Political Department again "stated that sentence had not yet been pronounced," and he specifically renewed his assurance. Two hours later our Minister from unofficial sources heard that all that had been told him by the Political Department was untrue, and that the sentence had been passed at 5 o'clock p.m.; before his last conversation with the Director, and that the execution was to take place that night. Accordingly the Secretary of the American Legation proceeded at once to Baron von der Lancken, and again asked as a favor to this Government that clemency be extended. He brought with him a letter from the American Minister, which reads as follows: "My dear Baron: "I am too ill to put my request before you in person, but once more I appeal to the generosity of your heart. Stand by and save from death this unfortunate woman. Have pity on her. Your devoted servant, servant, "BRANDWHITLOCK." Accompanying this purely personal note were two substantially similar communications, the one directed to Baron von Bissing and the other to Baron von der Lancken. These communications run as follows: "I have just heard that Miss Cavell, a British subject, and consequently under the protection of my Legation, was this morning condemned to death by court-martial. "If my information is correct, the sentence in the present case is more severe than all the others that have been passed in similar cases which have been tried by the same Court, and, without going into the reasons for "Miss Cavell is the head of the Brussels Surgical Institute. She has spent her life in alleviating the sufferings of others, and her school has turned out many nurses who have watched at the bedside of the sick all the world over, in Germany as in Belgium. At the beginning of the war Miss Cavell bestowed her care as freely on the German soldiers as on others. Even in default of all other reasons, her career as a servant of humanity is such as to inspire the greatest sympathy and to call for pardon. If the information in my possession is correct, Miss Cavell, far from shielding herself, has, with commendable straightforwardness, admitted the truth of all the charges against her, and it is the very information which she herself has furnished, and which she alone was in a position to furnish, which has aggravated the severity of the sentence passed on her. "It is then with confidence, and in the hope of its favourable reception, that I have the honour to present to your Excellency my request for pardon on Miss Cavell's behalf." This note was read aloud to Baron von der Lancken, the very official who had refused to "expressed disbelief in the report that sentence had actually been passed and manifested some surprise that we should give credence to any report not emanating from official sources. He was quite insistent in knowing the exact source of our information, but this I did not feel at liberty to communicate to him." Baron von der Lancken proceeded to express his belief "that it was quite improbable that sentence had been pronounced," and that in any event no execution would follow. After some hesitation he telephoned to the Presiding Judge of the Court-Martial and then reported that the embassy's unofficial information was only too true. His attention was further called to the express promise of the German Director of the Political Department to inform the American Legation of the sentence, and he was asked to grant the American Government the courtesy of a "delay in carrying out the sentence." To this appeal for mercy Baron von der Lancken replied that the Military Governor (von Bissing) was the supreme authority and Thereupon Baron von der Lancken insisted that Mr. Brand Whitlock's representative (Mr. Hugh Gibson, Secretary of the Legation) should take back the formal appeal for clemency addressed both to him and to von Bissing, and as both German officials had been fully advised as to the nature of the plea, Mr. Gibson finally consented. Baron von der Lancken assured Mr. Gibson that under the circumstances "even the Emperor himself could not intervene," a statement that was very quickly refuted when the Emperor—aroused by the world-wide condemnation of Miss Cavell's execution—did commute the sentences imposed upon six of the seven During the earnest conversation which took place in this last attempt to save Miss Cavell's life, the American representative took occasion to remind Baron von der Lancken's official associates—although it should not have been necessary—of the great services rendered by the United States, and especially by Mr. Brand Whitlock, in the earlier period of the German occupation, and this was urged as a reason why as a matter of courtesy to the United States Government some more courteous consideration should be accorded to its request. At the outbreak of the war, thousands of German residents in Belgium returned to their country in such haste that they left their families behind them. Mr. Whitlock gathered these women and children—numbering, it is said, over 10,000—and provided them with the necessaries of life, and ultimately with safe transportation into Germany, and having thus placed this inestimable service to thousands of German civilians in one scale, the American representative simply asked, as "the only request" made by the United On October 22nd there was issued from Brussels a "semi-official" but anonymous statement, charging that in the reports of the Secretary of the American Embassy, from which the above quoted statements are mainly taken, "most of the important events are inaccurately reproduced." No specification of any inaccuracy is however made, except the general denial "that the German authorities with empty promises put off the American Minister" and also the equally general statement that no promise was given to our embassy to advise it of developments in the case. A vague, general, and anonymous denial, issued by men who seek to wash their hands of innocent blood, cannot avail against Does Herr Conrad deny this? The Brussels "semi-official" statement has the hardihood to state to the world that the American Minister (Brand Whitlock) had admitted that "no such promise or assurance was given," and it places the responsibility upon M. Deleval, the Belgian legal counselor of the American Embassy. But this impudent lie is speedily overthrown by the positive statement of our Minister at Belgium to our Ambassador in London as follows: "From the date we first learned of Miss Cavell's imprisonment we made frequent inquiries of the Will the American people or the people of any nation hesitate to accept the clear, positive, and circumstantial statements of Minister Whitlock, Secretary Gibson, and Counselor Deleval, at least two of whom are wholly disinterested in the matter, as against the self-exculpatory, general, and anonymous denials of a "semi-official" press bureau, especially when it is recalled that from the beginning of the great war, the German Foreign Office, with whom military honor is supposed to be almost a religion, has stooped to the most shameful and barefaced mendacity? When the world recalls how Austrian Ambassadors in Paris, London, and Petrograd made the most emphatic statements that the forthcoming ultimatum to Serbia would be "pacific and conciliatory," and assured the Russian Ambassador that he could therefore safely leave Vienna on his vacation on the very eve of the ultimatum, and when the German "the German Government had no knowledge of the text of the Austrian note before it was handed in and had not exercised any influence on its contents," and later admitted, when the lie had served its purpose by lulling the world into a sense of false security, that it had been fully consulted by its ally before the ultimatum was prepared and had given it carte blanche to proceed, when these notable examples of Prussian Machiavellism are recalled, little attention will be given to these futile attempts to wash from the shield of German honor the blood of Edith Cavell. One can to some extent understand the Berserker fury which caused von Bissing to say in effect to this gentle-faced English nurse, "You are in our way. You menace our security. You must die, as countless thousands have already died, to secure the results of our seizure of Belgium"; but can we understand or in any way palliate the attempt to hide the stains of blood on that prison floor of Brussels with a cobweb of self-evident falsehoods? These stains can never be washed out to the eye of imagination. "Let none these marks efface, For they appeal from tyranny to God." In the last interview between our representative and Baron von der Lancken, which took place a few hours before the execution, our representative reminded these Prussian officials "of our untiring efforts on behalf of German subjects at the outbreak of the war and during the siege of Antwerp. I pointed out that, while our services had been gladly rendered and without any thought of future favors, they should certainly entitle you to some consideration for the only request of this sort you [the American Minister] had made since the beginning of the war." Even our Minister's appeal to gratitude and to one of the most ordinary and natural courtesies of diplomatic life proved unavailing, and at midnight the Secretary of the American Legation and the Spanish Minister, who was acting with him, left in despair. At 2 o'clock that morning Miss Cavell was secretly executed. Even the ordinary courtesy accorded to the vilest criminal, of being permitted before dying Apart from the brutality of the whole incident there is one circumstance that makes it of peculiar interest to the American people and which gives to it the character of rank ingratitude. Our representative, as above stated, did advise the German officials that a little delay was asked by our Legation as a slight return for the innumerable acts of kindness which our Legation had done for German soldiers and interned prisoners in the earlier days of the war before the German invasion had swept over the land. The charge of ingratitude may rest soundly upon far greater and broader grounds. This great nation had contributed in money and merchandise a sum estimated at many millions for the relief of the people in Belgium. In so doing it did to the German nation an inestimable service, for when Germany conquered Belgium the duty and burden rested upon it to support its population to the extent that it might become necessary. The burden of supporting 8,000,000 civilians was no light one, especially as there existed in Germany a scarcity of food. As bread tickets were then being issued in Germany to its people, the supplies would have been substantially less if a portion of its food products had been required for the civilian population of Belgium, for obviously the German nation could not permit a people, whom it had so ruthlessly trampled under foot, to starve to death. Every dollar that was raised in America for the Belgian people, therefore, operated to relieve Germany from a heavy burden. Moreover, when the war broke out, Germany needed some friendly nation to take over the care of its nationals in the hostile countries, and in England, France, Belgium, and Russia the In view of these services, it surely was not much for the American Minister to ask that a little delay should be granted to a woman whose error, if any, had arisen from impulses of humanity and from considerations of patriotism. To spare her life a little longer could not have done the German cause any possible harm, for she was in their custody and beyond the power of rendering any help to her compatriots. To condemn any human being, even if he were the vilest criminal, at 5 o'clock in the afternoon and execute him at 2 a.m., was an act of barbarism for which no possible condemnation is adequate. Under these circumstances, it would be incredible, if the facts were not beyond dispute, that the request of the United States for a little This makes the fate of Miss Cavell our affair as much as that of the Lusitania. And yet we have the already familiar semi-official assurance from Washington that while our officials "unofficially deplore the act, officially they can do nothing." Concurrently we are told in the President's Thanksgiving proclamation that we should be thankful because we have "been able to assert our rights and the rights of mankind," and that this "has been a year of special blessing for us," for, so the proclamation adds, "we have prospered while other nations were at war." I venture to say in all reverence that the God of nations will be better pleased on the coming Thanksgiving Day—which also should be one of penitence and humiliation—if we do a little more in fact and less in words to safeguard the rights of humanity. Our initial blunder was in turning away the Belgian Commissioners, when they first presented the wrongs of Let our nation begin with the case of Edith Cavell, and demand of Germany the dismissal of the officers who flouted, deceived, and mocked the representative of the United States. That concerns our honor as a nation. The final scene of the tragedy is best stated in the simple but poignantly pathetic words of the Chaplain, who was permitted to see the victim a few hours before her death: "On Monday evening, 11th October, I was admitted by special passport from the German authorities to the prison of St. Gilles, where Miss Edith Cavell had been confined for ten weeks. The final sentence had been given early that afternoon. "To my astonishment and relief I found my friend perfectly calm and resigned. But this could not lessen the tenderness and intensity of feeling on either part during that last interview of almost an hour. "Her first words to me were upon a matter concerning herself personally, but the solemn asseveration which accompanied them was made expressedly in the light of God and eternity. She then added that she wished all her friends to know that she willingly gave her life for her country, and said: 'I have no fear nor shrinking; I have seen death so often that it is not strange or fearful to me.' She further said: 'I thank God for this ten weeks' quiet before the end.' 'Life has always been hurried and full of difficulty.' 'This time of rest has been a great mercy.' 'They have all been very kind to me here. But this I would say, standing as I do in view of God and eternity, I realise that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone.' "We partook of the Holy Communion together, and she received the Gospel message of consolation with all her heart. At the close of the little service I began to repeat the words 'Abide with me,' and she joined softly in the end. "We sat quietly talking until it was time for me to go. She gave me parting messages for relations and friends. She spoke of her soul's needs at the moment, and she received the assurance of God's Word as only the Christian can do. "Then I said 'Good-bye,' and she smiled and said, 'We shall meet again.' "The German military chaplain was with her at the end and afterwards gave her Christian burial. "He told me: 'She was brave and bright to the last. She professed her Christian faith and that she was glad to die for her country.' 'She died like a heroine.'" It would be interesting to compare these last hours of one of the noblest women in English history to those of that rare and radiant Greek maiden, whom the genius of Sophocles has glorified in his immortal tragedy. The comparison is altogether in favour of the English heroine, for while Antigone went to her death bravely, yet her final words were those of bitter complaint and almost whining lamentation. Compare with these words the Christlike simplicity of Miss Cavell's last message to the world, and the difference between the noblest Paganism and the best of Christianity is apparent. Truly the light of Calvary illumined her dark cell! Standing "in view of God and eternity," she uttered the deeply pregnant sentence that "patriotism is not enough." Her executioners had illustrated this, for the ruthless killing of Edith Cavell for military purposes was actuated by that perverted spirit of patriotism which No one suggests that General von Bissing had any personal feeling against Miss Cavell. Indeed his conduct would be the more tolerable if it had been actuated by the spirit of anger. He killed her in cold blood and to strengthen the German occupation in Belgium. News of the very recent successes of the Allies in Flanders and in the Champagne districts in the great offensive had reached Belgium and had caused a perceptible ferment in that down-trodden people. It therefore seemed necessary to show the iron hand again and to the Prussian ideal, as already illustrated by official proclamations of Prussian Generals, it was a matter of no consequence whose life was taken or whose right was invaded. It served to terrorize the Belgian people—Such was its real purpose. And you, women of America and of the World! Will you not honor the memory of this martyr of your sex, who for all time will be mourned as was the noblest Greek maiden, Antigone, who also gave her life that her Make her cause—the cause of justice and mercy—your own! End Decoration Printed in Great Britain. Never, it seemed to the quaking boys, had the desert night seemed so black. The stars were shining, to be sure, but the very heavens seemed further away, and the silence was appalling. Nervous, excited, dreading the ordeal, each boy waited for the other to propose that they give up their wild-goose chase; but neither was willing to acknowledge his cowardice first, so they stumbled fearfully on, clutching each other's hands to keep from falling, they told themselves, but really to feel the nearness of another human being. At length, however, they reached the old, abandoned shack, where they were to keep their ghostly vigil, and with bated breath they opened the sagging door and crept trembling over the threshold into the black shadows of the interior. Fear held them tongue-tied, and they crouched upon the dusty floor as close to the door as they could get. The silence was intense, terrifying. Then the stillness was sharply broken by a hoarse whisper, "What was that, Bill?" Billiard, thinking Toady had spoken to him, was about to reply when a second voice answered, "Only the wind, I reckon. Shut up." "But it sounded like someone opened the door." "You're as bad as an old woman with the fidgets," said the second voice crossly. "Go to sleep, can't you? At least, let me sleep. I tell you we're safe enough. The fools will never think of looking for us here. This is a haunted house and no one ever comes here. When they get tired of scouring the desert and give up hunting for us, we'll light out, but until then we've got to lie low; and we might as well spend our time snoozing as to be worrying all the while." "The bank robbers!" thought each boy to himself. What should they do? It would be impossible for two small boys to capture such desperadoes in the dead of night, especially as neither lad was armed, they argued. Their only course was to steal noiselessly away, rouse the sheriff, bring back a posse and surprise the men in hiding. With one impulse, the terrified boys clasped hands, slipped cautiously out of the house, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being heard, and raced off along the road toward the sleeping town with all the speed they could muster. Once they fancied they heard a voice call to them, but this only increased their head-long flight. Their feet seemed fairly to skim over the ground, and when they reached the main street of the town they were breathless, exhausted and frightened almost past speaking. "Where—does—the sheriff—live?" panted Billiard, as they tore down the last steep slope. "Dunno," gasped Toady. "Then how'll we find him?" "Drug-store." "It's shut." "Ring the night bell." And ring they did, sending peal after peal echoing through the silent building until the sleepy proprietor, dishevelled and wrathy, stumbled through the doorway, and demanded fiercely, "What the deuce is wanted?" "The robbers—" half sobbed the boys. "Well, they ain't here," snarled the angry druggist, not catching the meaning of their words. "Now you hike for home and the next time you want to play a practical joke——" "Oh, this isn't a joke!" cried Toady imploringly. "We've found the sure 'nough robbers, but——" "We aren't big enough to capture them," finished Billiard. "Aw, come off!" said the man, beginning to see from the boys' demeanor that something was really wrong. "You are having a bad dream. How do you happen to be wandering around town this time of night?" "We dared each other to visit the haunted house to see if there was a really ghost, like Susie said." "And you found one, did you?" the druggist laughed sarcastically. "Oh, this ain't a ghost. It's burglars, truly! They talked and we heard what they said," cried Toady with convincing earnestness. "And what did they say?" persisted the druggist, though in a different tone of voice. Briefly they recounted their adventure in the vacant house, and as the man listened he took down the telephone, said a few words which the boys could not hear, and hung up the receiver again. Almost immediately there was a sound of footsteps without, and an armed citizen of Silver Bow appeared in the doorway, then another, and another, until a score or more had gathered just outside the building. There was a hasty consultation one with another, then the boys were bidden to repeat the story they had told the druggist, and after the men had heard the meagre details, the posse separated, vanishing one by one in the blackness. But instinctively the boys knew that they would attempt to surround the haunted house, and taking its occupants by surprise, would compel them to surrender. They wanted to remain at the drug-store until the capture was effected, but the keeper ordered them home to bed, and they reluctantly obeyed, listening every step of the way for the sound of shots. But nothing occurred to mar the stillness of the night, and they wondered if the desperadoes had after all escaped. So anxious were they, and so nervous over their unusual experience that it seemed as if sleep would never come to close their eyes, as they lay once more in their bed at the Eagles' Nest; and they were astonished to find themselves waking up the next morning at the sound of someone knocking at their door. "Who is it?" called Billiard, vaguely wondering if he could have dreamed all that had transpired during the past twelve hours. "Susie," answered a voice from the hall. "The sheriff wants to see you." "The sheriff?" "Yes. Hurry up! The bank robbers have been caught and you have to go to the justice of the peace's office." "Then it's really so," sighed Billiard in relief. "Course it is!" retorted Toady, now thoroughly awake. "But what do you s'pose the sheriff wants us for?" "Dunno. Quickest way to find out is to go down and see." Susie and the twins were waiting for them when they emerged from their room, and ecstatically announced, "We're all going, too. They want you to be witnesses, and Tabitha to take notes. No one else in town writes shorthand." "But what is it all about?" demanded Billiard. "Ain't the robbers in jail?" "We have no real jail here," explained Tabitha, who chanced to overhear his question. "When a man does anything that he has to go to prison for, they take him to the county seat. This court only tries to prove whether or not there is evidence enough to hold him for trial by the county. Hurry up, they are waiting for us. And children, remember, you must come straight back here after you take a look at the prisoners. Queer how youngsters want to see such things, isn't it? Perhaps it will be quite a while before I can get back, but I know I can trust you to keep out of mischief and mind Mercedes. Oh, Glory, I've got nervous chills already about taking that dictation. The lawyer who is to defend the robbers can talk like lightning." "Fudge!" replied Gloriana reassuringly. "You won't have any trouble at all, I know. They will take into consideration the fact that you have no experience outside of school. Is this the place? What a funny looking court! Does he live here, too? The justice of peace, I mean." "Why, Tabitha!" interrupted Irene, clutching the older girl by the arm. "Look there! That's our candy man,—the tallest one—and they've got him hand-cuffed. Does— Is he the man they say robbed the bank? I don't believe he ever did it!" "Hush!" warned Inez, giving her twin a vicious dig in the ribs. But the damage was already done. "What do you mean?" demanded Tabitha, pausing on the threshold of the tiny, dirty room that served as courthouse for the town of Silver Bow. "Yes, what do you mean?" asked one of the lawyers, who had chanced to overhear the remark. "He made candy for us the day you went to the river and left us at home," explained Irene, ignoring the frowns of her partners in guilt. "Tell us all about it." Bit by bit the story came out, and to Irene's great grief it forged another link in the chain of evidence already so strong against the cheery stranger. "I don't want him to go to jail," she sobbed. "He's an awfully nice man." "But, dear, he is a thief," Tabitha told her. "He ought to go to jail." "If they'd only let him loose this time, I'm sure he would never steal again," the child staunchly maintained. But in spite of her faith in him, the "candy man," as the children continued to call him, was sent to the county seat for trial, convicted, and sentenced to a long term in prison. "He shouldn't have stolen if he didn't want to go to prison," asserted Billiard virtuously. "If he hadn't robbed the bank, he never would have had to hide in the haunted house and we wouldn't have found them there." "But as 'tis," added Toady, "they paid Billiard and me each fifty dollars for finding them. I mean the town paid us." "Though you didn't discover whether there are any ghosts or not," said Susie much disappointed. "Who cares?" retorted the boys, drawing out their little hoard of gold pieces and gloating over them. "I wish there were more haunted houses if they'd all pay us as well as this one did. Now, what shall we do with our money?" CHAPTER XIVTHE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS"Only two weeks more of vacation," sighed Tabitha, sinking wearily into the hammock one August afternoon, and looking longingly away to the west where the train was just puffing into view. "I never dreamed we should be here all summer when I offered to take care of the kidlets for Mrs. McKittrick." "Are you sorry?" asked Gloriana, glancing up from her sewing in surprise at the tone of Tabitha's voice. "No, oh, no!" she answered hastily, for fear her companion would think she was complaining. "I don't regret staying here at all, for that was the only way Mr. McKittrick could get well; but still—I should have enjoyed getting a peek at the ocean again, and having a good time all around, like we'd surely have had with Myra." "Yes, that would have been lovely," sighed Gloriana, who could not help feeling sorry that their vacation had not turned out as they had planned, although she admired Tabitha more than ever because of the unselfishness which had prompted her to shoulder such a responsibility in the first place. "You see, I never have spent the summer at the seashore," Tabitha continued; "nor anywhere else, for that matter, except here in Silver Bow, since we came here to live; and I had planned so much on Myra's invitation. She is such a whirlwind for fun." "It's too bad Miss Davis didn't let us know any sooner that she didn't intend to come back to the desert till fall. Perhaps we could have found someone else—" "I'm afraid not. It's awfully hard to get anyone dependable away out here. Hired help is simply out of the question. They think Silver Bow is beyond the bounds of civilization, I reckon." "I don't blame them," began Gloriana impetuously; then blushed furiously, and stammered, "Oh, what did I say? What will you think of me? I didn't mean—" "Yes, you did mean it," laughed her companion. "And I don't blame you. I used to feel the same way myself." "And did you really get over it?" Gloriana eagerly asked. "Do you truly like this—this desolate place now?" "I love Silver Bow," she answered slowly, yet with emphasis. "I sometimes wonder what kind of a girl I would have been if we had stayed on at Dover or Ferndale, where there was no Carrie. Then there would have been no Ivy Hall, either, I suppose." "And no me," half whispered the red-haired girl. "Then I should be thankful for the desert, too; because if it hadn't been for you, I never should have been adopted by the best people in the whole wide world, nor found an Uncle Jerry who really belongs to me. And anyway, there will be other summers, and the ocean will keep." "No, it won't, either!" thrilled a bubbling voice behind them, and a red-faced, perspiring, disheveled figure swept around the corner of the house and plumped itself down in the hammock beside Tabitha whom she proceeded to hug rapturously. "Myra!" gasped the black-haired girl, trying to return the embrace, but finding herself held fast by a pair of strong, sinewy arms. "Myra!" echoed Gloriana, dropping her sewing and staring with fascinated eyes at the newcomer, who promptly dragged the lame girl from her chair into the already overloaded hammock and hugged her vigorously. "Where did you come from and how did you get here?" "On the train," Myra paused long enough to pant, "and as to finding you,—haven't you described and sketched the Eagles' Nest often enough in your letters for me to know it when I saw it? I never even had to ask directions how to find the trail. Now just rustle your things together and we'll catch that train back to Los Angeles this afternoon. It leaves at three o'clock, doesn't it? I simply had to come after you, but it's too beastly hot to stay here a minute longer than necessary." "But Myra, the children!" cried the two maids, looking oh! so eager at the mere thought of the seashore, but determined to turn their backs on temptation at once. "Hark ye!" answered Myra in tragic tones. "What sound doth smite your ears? Or be you deef?" Her abrupt change of tone and manner was too comical to be resisted, but her upraised hand checked the mirth of the other two, and they dutifully cocked their heads on one side and listened intently. "The youngsters at play," both replied in the same breath. "Is that all?" "Yes." "Then I guess you're deef." At that moment sturdy Rosslyn flew around the corner of the cottage, and throwing himself into Tabitha's lap shrieked out, "Kitty, Kitty, mamma's come, but papa must stay down there till it gets cooler." "What!" whispered Tabitha, her face paling. "It can't be! Is she truly?" Myra nodded solemnly. "What wonderful things are happening—" There was an ominous crack, the hammock rope snapped in two, and the quartette found themselves a tangled, huddled heap of arms and legs upon the piazza floor. "Indeed, and I see nothing wonderful about that," spluttered Myra, who had just opened her lips to speak, when their downfall came, and in consequence she had shut her sharp teeth together on her tongue. Gloriana scrambled to her feet, then laughed. She could not help it, for long-limbed Myra did look so funny, sprawled on the floor like a huge spider; and amazement was written so large upon Tabitha's face that sterner hearts than hers would have made merry at the picture which they presented. Rosslyn's wail of grief checked her mirth, however, and she came hastily to his rescue, but his mother had heard the outcry, and now appeared on the scene with the remainder of her brood clinging to her skirts, and Billiard and Toady following close at their heels. "Well, for the land sakes!" she ejaculated, holding up her hands in surprise and amusement. "What a sight! Are any of you hurt? That's good! Now, girls, perhaps it will seem rude and ungrateful to rush you off this way, but I had orders to see that you caught the train back to Los Angeles this afternoon. So I reckon you will have to move lively, with your packing and all." "Who gave you such orders?" demanded Tabitha in bewilderment, rubbing her eyes to make sure she was not dreaming. "Your father. I met him in the city just as I was about to board the train for Silver Bow." "But—but—" "No 'buts' about it," put in Myra, still sucking her injured tongue. "I accidentally ran up against Mrs. McKittrick in Los Angeles, knew her at once because Mercy looks so much like her, discovered that she was planning to come back here before school opened; so I just attached myself to her and came along—" "Aha!" crowed Gloriana jubilantly. "Then all that tale about finding the Eagles' Nest without help was a—fib!" Myra's face crimsoned and her tell-tale eyes dropped, then lifted again, twinkling like twin stars. "Huh!" she giggled, "our detective again! Say, are you going to catch that train at three o'clock? If so, just take wings to your feet and fly for home. Mrs. McKittrick can hear all about everything when you get back. The children are alive and well, and that's the main point. I told her everything you had written me and—" "Myra Haskell!" "Well, she was on her way home and 'twas time she knew." She glanced across at Mrs. McKittrick, who smiled back through her tears. "And she says you are bricks. Also I told the station agent to send up his rig for your trunks, and if you don't make haste pretty lively, he'll be there before we are. I suppose your trunks are at your own house? That's where I told him to call. Now sling out the duds you've got here, and I'll pack them while you are getting slicked up. No, Mrs. McKittrick, I don't want another bite to eat, and it's evident from the looks of the house that either these folks don't get dinner, or else they have already eaten it." "We've had it," volunteered Irene, "but it wasn't very good." "Irene McKittrick!" gasped her mother. "She is right," laughed Tabitha. "To-day was scrap dinner. We have it once a week to get rid of all the odds and ends. However, it isn't very popular. No, thanks, we won't need a lunch put up for us. If we get hungry before we reach Los Angeles, we'll patronize the diner. Sorry we can't stop to tell you all the news, but if Dad said we must go back on this train, I suppose we must. Where are you staying, Myra? Avalon? Catalina Island?" "The very same." Tabitha clasped her hands together and drew a deep breath. "How perfectly splendid!" "I guess I'm dreaming," murmured Gloriana, half aloud, pinching herself vigorously to make sure she was really awake. "Do you get there by boat?" "Of course, goosie! Did you think we took an airship? Hurry up, slowpokes!" Laughing and chattering gleefully, the trio gathered up their possessions, made a hurried visit to the Catt cottage, packed their trunks, and were at the station long before the train rumbled its way back to the great city by the sea. "We are going to have the grandest kind of a time," Myra told them. "All sorts of high jinks. We've got a dandy site for our camp,—a dozen tents—" "A dozen!" cried Tabitha in a panic. "Why, who are with you? I thought it was just your family." "You knew Gwynne was there?" "Yes, but she wouldn't occupy a dozen tents. I'm scared!" "You needn't be," mocked Myra soothingly. "I'll bet you will vote it the jolliest bunch you ever got mixed up with." "Do I know any of them?" "Do you consider yourself acquainted with Gwynne and me?" "Of course. I meant any of the others." "Well," Myra spoke dubiously, "if you don't, I think you will get acquainted easily." And with that remark she adroitly turned the conversation and managed to avoid that subject during the rest of their journey. When the train drew into the dingy little depot the next morning, and the trio gathered up their wraps preparatory to alighting, Tabitha was suddenly heard to ejaculate, "Why, there is Dad! And he's talking with—Miss Pomeroy, as sure as I'm alive! Myra Haskell, is Miss Pomeroy occupying one of those twelve tents?" Myra glanced hastily through the iron gates, saw that Tabitha was right, and demurely nodded her head. "Then I can imagine who the others are." "Bet you can't! At least, not all." "Bet I can!" "Who, then, smarty?" "Grace Tilton, Bessie Jorris, Jessie Wayne, Julia, Chrystie—is Chrystie there?" "Wait and find out," teased Myra. "Possibly Madeline and Vera,—in fact, all our bunch." Myra merely laughed, and as they were now spied by Mr. Catt and his companion, there was no further opportunity for discussion; for, after a hasty greeting all around, the man seized all the grips he could manage, and made for the street, saying briskly, "We must hurry. The boat goes at ten, and it is quite a ride to San Pedro." "I hope," panted Tabitha, trotting along at the rear of the procession, tugging a heavy suit-case, "that you don't have your fun in such a hurry." "What do you mean?" Myra demanded. "Well, it's been nothing but hustle since we started out yesterday afternoon, and I was just wondering if that's the atmosphere of your camp, too." "Perhaps you will think so," laughed Myra; "for there certainly are few idle minutes with us." "How long has the bunch been at Avalon? Surely not all summer, or you never could have kept it secret for such a while." "No," Myra acknowledged, "only—but there, not another question till we reach Catalina. Then you can ask all you want. I've said too much already. First thing I know, you will guess the rest of our surprise." And the girl resolutely closed her lips. "Rest of the surprise," mused Tabitha to herself, when further questions failed to bring forth any more information, and Myra was devoting her attention to quiet Gloriana. "I wonder what it can be. Seems as if there had been about all the surprises one human being could expect in twenty-four hours. Who would ever imagine that Dad would go on a jaunt like this? Isn't it great to be alive in this day and age?" She fell to dreaming over the many changes that had come to pass in her life during one short year, and was only roused from her revery by Myra's gripping her shoulder and shouting in her ear, "The boat is whistling its warning now. Not a minute to spare. Run, Kit, run!" And again the little company tore frantically down the street toward the dock where the Cabrillo was tugging at her anchor, waiting for the signal to steam away to the Enchanted Isle on her daily voyage. It was the first time either Tabitha or Gloriana had been on the ocean; and with rapturous hearts they drank in every detail of their brief trip, counted the flying fish that darted out of the water on either side of them, watched the foam dashing high against the bow of the vessel, wondered at the long ribbon of silent water which the ship left in its wake, and were sorry when suddenly Myra called, "There's the island. We are almost there. Now for the fun! There's a bride and groom on board." "How do you know?" "Didn't you hear the whistle blow?" "Sure, but I supposed it was to tell the islanders that we were coming. Doesn't it always whistle?" "Yes, but not like it did just now. That's the way they have of letting the folks at Avalon know when there is a recently married couple on board. Then the men are ready and waiting at the dock with a wheelbarrow." "A wheelbarrow! What on earth do they want of a wheelbarrow?" demanded both girls at once. "Just for fun. They cart the groom all around the island in it and make a fearful racket. Regular chivari." "How mean!" cried Gloriana compassionately. "Oh, it's fun," Myra declared. "They like it. I believe an Avalon citizen who didn't get treated that way would feel insulted, really. Here we are at the landing, and there is the wheelbarrow brigade. It's Murphy, the ice-man, who got married this time. See, he's as proud as a peacock at the prospect." "Yes, but look at the poor little bride," said Gloriana indignantly. "She is scared stiff." "Bet she's game," replied Myra, after a quick scrutiny of the little, shrinking woman, clinging to the arm of the big, burly Irishman, as they stepped briskly down the gangplank. "Do they put her in the wheelbarrow, too?" cried Tabitha in amazement. "Oh, dear, no——" "They will this one," said the bride with startling suddenness, having chanced to overhear both question and answer. "If they cart my Pat around town in that kind of a rig, they cart me, too." And to the delight and amusement of the crowd gathered to greet the Cabrillo's passengers, the little lady tucked herself in the barrow beside her husband and was trundled away by the surprised citizens, who had never wheeled just such a cargo before. "'Here comes the bride'," a voice began to sing; the crowd took it up, and amid a shower of bright-colored confetti, the plucky bride disappeared down the street still seated beside her smiling Pat. So intent was Tabitha in watching the queer procession that she had not noticed the quiet approach of a bevy of happy-faced girls; but now, as she turned toward Myra with the remark, "She's clear grit. I'd choose a wife like that if I were a man," she found the laughing eyes of Grace Tilton staring at her, and before she could find her tongue to voice her surprise, Gwynne's regal head bobbed through the crowd toward her. Jessie and Julia, Vera and Kate, all her particular friends at Ivy Hall, seemed to spring up around her, and although half expecting to find them there, she stood transfixed with amazement, silently regarding them one by one, while they in silence stared back at her. Then the circle parted, and among the familiar faces of her schoolmates appeared another, which dimpled and smiled and nodded engagingly, and Tabitha awoke with a start. "Carrie Carson!" she cried, and ran straight into the outstretched arms of the golden-haired girl. "Kitty, my puss!" whispered Carrie, cuddling the black head dropped on her shoulder; and the other girls thoughtfully turned away to watch the sea-gulls careening about the mastheads of the big Cabrillo. But after a moment, that sweet, familiar voice spoke again, and turning back, the Ivy Hall girls saw Carrie stretching out her hands to timid Gloriana, as she said, "So this is my other sister, my Gloriana! It seems as if I had always known you. We are going to have great times at Ivy Hall this year. Come on, girls, the glass bottom boat is to take us to the Marine Gardens right after dinner, and we'll have to hurry, or be late." Myra turned to Tabitha with a comical grimace, and said, "What did I tell you? Hurry's the word." Then a babel of voices broke loose, all laughing and talking at once, and in triumph Tabitha and Gloriana were escorted to Ivy Hall Camp. CHAPTER XVMYRA'S CLIMAX"Well, vacation is over, and we had just begun having a good time," sighed Tabitha mournfully, drawing back the curtains and peering out of the window that September morning into the gray fog of early dawn. "It doesn't seem possible that we are back in Los Angeles again. I 'most wish we had stayed at Catalina for this last day." The Catalina campers, after a delightful two weeks' outing on the Island, had returned to mainland the day before; but as Ivy Hall had not yet opened its doors to its pupils, and most of the girls lived in neighboring towns, Myra Haskell had invited them to spend the night with her at her aunt's house. The aunt, Mrs. Cummings, was herself away on a brief vacation, but had given her harum-scarum niece permission to take possession of her pretty bungalow for the two nights the party would be in Los Angeles before school commenced. So, as the gray day dawned, it found a dozen mummy-like figures stretched about the floor of the great living-room, wrapped in blankets and quilts, and snoring blissfully. This was the audience which Tabitha addressed, but she did not realize that she had spoken her thoughts aloud, and was startled when Myra, without opening her eyes, grunted, "Huh! You'll sing another tune before night. This is to be the gala day of your life. You will never forget it. When Dad starts out to do a thing, he never stops half way. The only trouble is to get him started." "I didn't mean to grumble, truly," cried Tabitha, dismayed at having had her ungracious complaint overheard by her young hostess. "It is just grand of your family to invite all of us out to your ranch for the day, but I believe it's going to rain. It certainly looks like it. You could cut the fog with a knife." "Whist! my young friend," murmured Gwynne, wakened from her slumbers by the sound of voices in the room. "Don't be so pessimistic. Don't you know it never rains in California? At least not in the summer time." For from the opposite corner of the room someone had sleepily murmured, "What about the ostriches?" and the whole company laughed reminiscently, recalling that Thanksgiving night when the storm had frightened the ostriches at the Park until they broke loose and created a panic among the returning theatre-goers. "Who said rain?" demanded Grace, lifting a tousled head from the pillow to survey the hilarious group scattered about the floor of the spacious room. "Go back to sleep,—you dreamed it!" teased Bessie, who had begun to slip on her clothes. "'Twas snow we were talking about. Feels like it, anyway." "It is pretty chilly," admitted Tabitha, shivering under the thin folds of her borrowed dressing-gown, as she turned away from the window and prepared to follow Bessie's example. "Wake up, thou sluggards, 'tis time you were dressed. Remember we have a long and arduous day ahead of us." "Kitty must be tired," said Julia in mock sympathy, crawling out of her warm nest and jerking the blanket off her nearest neighbor with ruthless hand. "Is that it, Kitty? First you want it to rain, and then when you can't make it do that, you begin to moan about the length of the day before us." "All wrong," Vera spoke up suddenly. "She is merely thinking of that dear, cross-eyed boatman at Avalon. You know he promised to give us a free ride to the Marine Gardens this morning, and here we all came away and dragged Tabitha with us. Shame on us! What could we be thinking about!" Tabitha wisely joined in the laugh which followed this sally, and sent a pillow flying after her tormentor, who had made a wild dash for the hall. "No, sir, I'm not bemoaning my fate," she vigorously denied, with her mouth full of pins. "I know we shall have a splendid time at the ranch. Only it seems as if vacation had only just begun, instead of being nearly ended; and the day looks so cloudy and gray that it doesn't seem like a fitting climax for our lovely two weeks at Catalina." "It is too bad that you got cheated out of all the fun this summer," Myra sympathized heartily. "But just you wait until the day is done before you say it is not a fitting climax— Gracious Caesar! Here's one of the autos already! Surely they can't be coming so soon! What time is it, anyway?" "Half-past six," Gloriana answered, glancing at an open watch that lay on the library table. "Half-past nothing!" cried Vera, tumbling hastily into the room with her eyes as big as saucers. "It is almost eight o'clock!" "You are joking!" cried the rest of the group in wild alarm. "Am not! True as you're alive, the kitchen clock says a quarter of eight o'clock." "Oho!" murmured Myra guilty. "I—I—really, I forgot——" "Forgot what?" they demanded, as she doubled up and shrieked with laughter. "I—I must have set all the watches in the crowd behind time," she managed to explain at length. "When?" "Last night." "What for?" "Just a joke." "A joke? I can't see any joke about that!" spluttered Jessie indignantly. "Did you think we wanted to go for a forty-mile auto ride on empty stomachs? I'm as hungry as a bear this minute." "I am awfully sorry," cried Myra penitently, sobering at the realization of just what would be the outcome of her joke. "I meant to set them two hours ahead, so you would all get up at daybreak and be ready long before the autos came." "Just like you!" they exclaimed, half amused, half provoked. "What are you going to do about it now?" "What can we do? The autos are here already with the rest of the people. There are the Carsons and here comes Miss Pomeroy." "And there is Tabitha's father in his new machine." "Yes, and mine," said Myra. "My! won't he be mad to think we aren't even dressed? If there is one thing above another that he abominates, it is having to wait for a woman to get ready to go somewhere. Well, I suppose I'll have to break the news to him. Then after you have all gone home again, won't I get the dickens?" "Hold on!" cried Tabitha, as Myra started for the door. "There is no need of that, is there? I've got a brilliant inspiration. Didn't you say when you investigated the larder last night that your aunt must have baked just a-purpose for our visit?" "Yes, words to that effect. There is a whole crock full of doughnuts and another of cookies. She must have had baking day just before she decided to take her little trip. But why?" "We'll just fill our pockets——" "Haven't any!" "Well, our hands, then, and eat our breakfast on the sly." "On the fly you mean," said Gwynne, sarcastically. "To be exact, yes. Or perhaps it would be better to pretend that we just found the supplies as we were about to leave the house. That will be the truth, so far as the most of us are concerned. Won't it?" "But cookies and doughnuts are pretty slim fare for hungry bodies," grumbled Vera, tugging at an unruly collar. "Better than nothing," said Bessie cheerfully. "Dinner will taste all the better." "But we aren't ready," objected Julia, slipping the last hairpin in the heavy coil at the back of her head. "My shoes aren't buttoned yet, and I can't scare up a hook in the whole outfit." "Bring 'em in your hand, then," suggested Gwynne. "I'm ready now, and I elect myself commissary general to distribute the rations as you pass out. Who'll be first in line? Gather up your bedding, Jessie, and stack it in the corner, else Myra's aunt will think tramps camped here instead of civilized human beings. Now, are you all clothed and in your right minds? Then, Grace, poke your head out of the window and announce to the audience that we will be out in a minute. Where are your hats and coats? Yes, Kate, there'll be time for you to wash your face if you haven't been able to do so before. Look pleasant, please! No one must suspect that we've had no breakfast; but in my mind's eye, I can see this bunch stowing away their dinner three or four hours from now. Hope they serve it as soon as we get there. Do you suppose there will be enough to go around? How far did you say it was, Myra? Forty miles?" Laughing and joking, the dozen hungry, breakfastless girls hurried into their coats and veils, seized their pitifully small allotment of doughnuts and cookies, and boisterously climbed aboard the autos waiting for them. "Only ten minutes late by actual count," Mr. Haskell complimented them, as the merry crowd poured out of the door. "Well, well, that's doing fine! How did it happen?" "It's all Myra's fault," began Vera plaintively, but Myra, fearful that she was about to be betrayed, hastily asked, "Where is the dinner, Dad? Didn't mother tell you to bring——" "Some stuffed squabs, fruit and cake? Yes, she did; and it's packed in that trunk hitched onto the step there. You'll have to sit on it, I guess. There doesn't seem to be quite room enough to accommodate all the crowd." This arrangement just suited Myra, who loved to romp like her brothers; so she gleefully perched on top of the long, flat chest strapped on one side of the auto, and the procession slowly set out on its long journey. "My! but it's a beautiful day," sighed Tabitha at length, her eyes wandering from the fog-wet landscape below to the sky above, where the blue was already chasing away the gray, as the sun struggled up behind the eastern hills. "Didn't I tell you so?" crowed Gwynne, regretfully studying the last bite of a doughnut before popping it into her mouth. "It doesn't rain in California. Is this the river we cross eighteen times, Myra, in order to reach your ranch?" "Only eight," mumbled Myra, with her mouth full of cookie crumbs. "This is it. Allow me to introduce you to the great——" "Great!" echoed Tabitha, looking down at the shallow, sluggish stream with critical eyes. "Is it really a river? Looks to me like the little puddles we used to sail boats in after a heavy rain-storm back home when I was a little tot." "It isn't very awe-inspiring now, is it? But you should see it in the spring after the rains. It certainly can play havoc then. Changes its channel every two or three years, and causes all sorts of damage. What is the matter ahead there?" Their auto had slowed down suddenly, and now came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. "What has happened, Dad?" "Carson's auto is stuck in the mud." "Mud?" "Well, the river-bed, if that suits you any better. I'll get out and see if I can help them——" "No need; they've started up again," said Tabitha, waving her hand at Carrie and wishing that she had been fortunate enough to get a seat in Mr. Carson's machine. The delayed procession started onward again, and without further difficulty crossed the muddy river-bed and sped swiftly away down the smooth road on the other side. But that same river had to be reckoned with seven more times, and each time at least one of the cars sank in the treacherous mud and had to be dug out. "Well, thank fortune, this is the last time we cross!" breathed Myra, as they approached the winding river for the eighth time. "Ours is the only auto that hasn't stuck fast so far. Let her out, Dad, and we'll be on the other bank in a jiffy. I never knew the river to be so high at this season of the year." "Knock on wood, Myra, knock on wood!" cried Gwynne in mock alarm. "Too late, we've stuck fast! Why on earth couldn't you wait until we had safely reached the other side before you commenced bragging?" "Huh! You superstitious duck, did you think we could escape? Oh, pshaw, we're out! Not even the fun of having to be helped across like the others were! Well, never mind, Mr. Catt's machine is sure to stick again. It has every time so far. There, didn't I tell you? Hurrah! Watch your father puff, Kitty. Ain't he a sight? Get out your shovel, Mr. Catt!" Myra was excitedly dancing on the lid of the luncheon-filled chest, as she hung precariously over the back of the tonneau, and bawled her remarks at the unfortunate occupants of the auto behind them, which seemed to sink deeper and deeper in the mire with every effort to dig her out. "Fasten this rope to your car and we'll try dragging you out," finally suggested the ponderous Mr. Haskell, clambering heavily down from his seat at the wheel and going to the aid of his unlucky neighbor, who was not yet much skilled in the art of running an automobile. So they tied the two cars together with a heavy rope, and tried to drag the captive machine loose, but without success. "Let me drive," suggested Myra, after they had tugged in vain for several minutes, "and you get out and pull on the rope, too." "What good will that do?" growled her father crossly. "If sixty horse power won't budge the thing, do you suppose man's puny strength will?" Nevertheless, he crawled out of his seat once more, and seized the great rope dangling between the two cars. Mr. Catt, resigning his wheel to the driver of the next machine in line, followed Mr. Haskell's example, and with three or four of the other men of the party, they added their strength to that of the machine, and pulled with all their might. Myra, at the wheel, was in her element, and putting on full power, she gave the lever a vicious jerk. The car leaped forward like a thing alive, and bounded up the opposite bank at break-neck speed. "Ah!" she cried in triumph, "I knew I could get her started. I'm a bird!" "Oh, Daddy," shrieked Tabitha's voice from the rear seat. "Let go, oh, let go! Mr. Haskell, you'll be killed!" "Myra, you chump!" hissed Gwynne in her ear. "Shut that thing off! The rope's bu'sted and you are dragging our precious men folks uphill." Myra glanced hastily behind her, reversed the wheel, and as the car came to a standstill, she sprawled across the seat, doubled up with merriment, half hysterical. "Oh, didn't they look funny hanging onto that rope? What fools some mortals be! Why didn't they let go? Bet Dad's got his nose skinned good, for when I looked back, he was plowing up the road on his head. Is he hurt? I don't dast to ask! Mr. Catt, your clothes are pretty dusty." "Dusty I'll admit, but not very pretty," he smiled grimly, as he wiped the perspiration from his grimy face. "However, you got the car out of the rut, so perhaps we can proceed on our way now." "Then it might be wise if I resigned my seat to the chauffeur before I am requested," chuckled Myra, still laughing immoderately at thought of her father's undignified attitude as he was dragged through the dust, clinging desperately to the frayed end of the broken rope. So she scrambled nimbly to her place on the running board, and there Mr. Haskell found her sitting prim and decorous when he had finally recovered his breath and made himself sufficiently presentable to face the rest of the party. "Your nose is a little—soiled," she told him, as he climbed stiffly into his seat, "and somewhat scrubbed, I'm afraid." Her voice shook a little in spite of her efforts to control her mirth, and he scowled darkly at his irrepressible daughter, though he only said, "Are you all ready?" So again the procession of autos took up their journey, and with no further accident finally reached the great walnut ranch where the Haskell family lived during the summer. The rosy, smiling mother greeted them from the veranda as the cars rolled up the smooth driveway and unloaded at the door. "You are late," she said cheerily. "Did you have any mishaps? I knew you would be hungry after your long ride, so we are serving dinner early. Dave, did you get the squabs all right?" "Yes, he did," Myra answered. "I sat on them all the way out here. Dad, bring on the 'eats'. Why, what is the matter?" Mr. Haskell stood in the driveway frowning heavily at the car, much as he might have done at a naughty little boy. At Myra's boisterous call, he raised his eyes and inquired, "Where are the 'eats'?" "In the chest, of course. What do you—" Her voice died away in a husky, bewildered squeak. The rest of the party came closer, followed the direction of her glance, and gasped. The hamper full of stuffed squabs was gone! "Well, of all things!" cried Gwynne, when the silence was becoming oppressive. "How could it have happened?" "With Myra sitting on it!" chorused the girls. "Didn't you miss it?" "N-o." "Ha, ha, that's one on you, Miss Haskell," laughed Mr. Carson. "Sitting on the lunch box and never missed it when it tumbled overboard. How did you manage to stick on?" "How did the other machines manage to come along behind us and never find it?" retorted Myra, nettled at the hilarity of her companions. "That is the question!" "We must have lost it in the river," suggested Tabitha. "Of course! When we were trying to pull out the other machine and I shaved Dad's nose. Didn't I do a good job, Mumsie? Must we go hungry now because I lost all your little stuffed scrubs,—I mean squabs?" Anxiously she turned toward her mother and scanned that sober face, for her eighteen hour fast had left her half famished, and there were at least eleven other girls in the same boat, all because of her stupid attempt at joking. "We-ll, I have cooked a kettle of new potatoes and another of green corn,—plenty of both. But it looks as if you must go without meat." "Oh, we can get along nicely, I know. Vegetables are better than meat anyway, you know. Come on, let's eat!" At that moment she felt hungry enough to swallow the dishes themselves, and anything sounded appetizing to her. As the rest of the party were equally as hungry, they were not slow to respond to her invitation, and in a very short time the tables were stripped; but the ravenous appetites were appeased, and the little company scattered in groups about the ranch to enjoy the few brief hours of their stay. The return trip was as tame as the first part of the journey had been exciting, for not a single car stuck once, and just as the city clocks were striking nine, the tired, sunburned, but blissfully happy girls again found themselves entering Mrs. Cummings' deserted house, where they were to spend this last night before Ivy Hall opened its doors to receive them. "Oh, Kit, your father gave me a letter for you, hours ago," suddenly exclaimed Myra in dismay, as they were unrolling their blankets ready for bed, and she dragged forth a crumpled envelope from her blouse and presented it to her surprised companion. "I'm so sorry I forgot it. Really, it's inexcusable in me." "It's of little consequence," Tabitha assured her, scanning the unfamiliar handwriting with puzzled eyes. "I don't know anyone in Boston. Oh, it's from Billiard and Toady, I reckon. They live at Jamaica Plains, and—why, there's money in it! One hundred dollars. What in the world— Will you listen to this, girls? You know I told you about their getting part of the reward for helping capture the bank robbers in Silver Bow? Well, they are sending it back and want to know if it's enough to give Mercedes another year at Ivy Hall." A deep hush fell upon the group of tired, sleepy girls preparing for the night. Each maid recalled with a twinge of conscience the picture of quiet, sober-faced Mercedes McKittrick, as she had said good-bye to them that last day of school. "I can never forget any of you," she had said shyly, "and I'm glad of that, for it's nice to remember pleasant times when you can't have any more." They had not understood then, but now they knew it was her way of renouncing the happy school days which she must give up because of her father's illness; and they were ashamed of their indifference. "I'll add fifty dollars of the check Uncle Jerry gave me," whispered Gloriana, breaking the painful silence at last. "And there's my birthday money in the bank," said Tabitha. "That's another fifty." "Oh, if only I hadn't spent my allowance for clothes that I didn't need!" groaned Myra. "But I still have nine dollars and ninety-nine cents left. Can anyone make it an even ten? Ivy Hall will be open to us to-morrow, and school begins Monday. I can get along nicely on my nerve until my next allowance comes in. Here, let's pass the hat." "Me, first!" cried Bessie enthusiastically, reaching for her purse. "I'll give ten dollars." "My money is all gone," mourned Grace, "but I'll promise ten dollars if you will take pledges." In utter amazement Tabitha sat curled up on her pile of blankets, watching the shower of gold and silver which poured into her lap. "Oh, girls," she gasped, when she could find her tongue. "How can I ever thank you? Mercy will be transported with joy. Here's more than enough to pay all her expenses, and Carrie will want a share in it, too. Aren't friends splendid!" Her voice was husky and tremulous, and two bright drops glistened in her black eyes. What a beautiful world this is to live in! Somehow, the spontaneous gift to little Mercedes seemed a gift to her also, and she thoroughly appreciated the loving act of her classmates. What a beautiful climax to her summer vacation! Jessie sniffed audibly, and Vera surreptitiously wiped a big tear off the end of her nose. Myra, who hated scenes, brought the group back to the earth with a thump, saying briskly, "Come, let's to bed! I'm half dead already, and my face is smarting like sin. I don't like your cold cream, Kitty." "Cold cream?" repeated Tabitha in surprise. "Yes, I helped myself to the contents of the jar I found in your suitcase. No one else had any, and my face was burned to a frazzle." "Did you put that stuff on your face?" screamed Tabitha, holding up a tiny white jar of creamy paste. "Sure. Why?" "Because it's corn salve. No wonder it smarts. Go wash——" But Myra waited to hear no more. There was a wild scamper of bare feet on the hall floor, the bath-room door banged noisily, water splashed vigorously, and just as the girls were drifting off to sleep, they heard Myra, snuggling down in her blankets, murmur sadly, "It's lucky the Hall opens to-morrow. Otherwise these girls would soon be the death of me."
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