When the pictures had been taken and the girls were filing out of the room, Betty said to Norma:

“Lena didn’t show up.”

“Oh! Sure she—” Norma hesitated. “Well, anyway, her picture will be in the lot, you can depend upon that.”

As they climbed into the jeeps, Norma heard a pigeon cooing and, looking up to the studio roof, she saw two pigeons. They were jet black. This gave her a start, but she said never a word.

They were halfway back to the post when suddenly she realized that she had left her films without any decision having been made about them.

“I left my films,” she said to Betty. “Do you suppose he’ll develop them?”

“My guess is that he will.”

Betty’s guess was right. And this Norma would live to regret.

“All the while I was there I felt I had been in that place before,” said Norma.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” was Betty’s strange reply.

There was one extra person in the squad which meant that while the others were taking their turn at training, three at a time, one was free to undertake some special task. This was Norma’s day off.

“Norma,” Lieutenant Warren said to her after she had spent the greater part of the day working over some special type of chart, “I think you told me once that you had ridden a motorcycle.”

“Oh, yes, many times,” was the quick reply. “My father and I used to cover part of his territory on a motorcycle.”

“Good! One of our tasks is to be that of keeping in touch with the plane spotters in our territory. They are all volunteers. They work without pay and are, I am sure, very conscientious people.”

“They must be.” Norma agreed. “And do you know, I really like these real New Englanders.”

“They seem more genuinely American than most people I’ve come to know,” Miss Warren agreed. “What I wanted to suggest was that now and then you take a motorcycle—there are two in the basement room of the Sea Tower—and visit these spotter sheds. There’s one near Granite Head.”

“I think I saw it as I passed this morning.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it. You might like to take a run out there right now,” the Lieutenant suggested.

“That would be real fun. Thank you so much.” A quarter of an hour later, dressed in her fatigue suit and with stout coveralls drawn over it, Norma leapt on her motorcycle and went pop-popping away.

She was not long in reaching the place in the road nearest the spotter shed.

As she paused to study the steep road leading up to the shed, two girls who were undoubtedly twins came hurrying from the opposite direction. Seeing that they were about to start the climb, Norma said:

“Going up? Hop on behind. I think this thing will take us all up.”

“Oh, fine!” they exclaimed. “We’re late.”

“Late for what?” Norma asked.

“We’re spotters. I’m Beth and this is Bess, my sister,” one of the twins explained.

“We’re on from now until midnight,” the other said.

“Whew!” Norma exclaimed. “That’s a long spot for a spotter.”

“Oh, we don’t mind,” said Beth, laughing. “Only one is needed to watch at a time.”

“The other one studies. We’re still in high school,” said Bess. “Sometimes we fall asleep.”

With a final snort the motorcycle reached the crest of the hill, then circled to a stop at the foot of a crooked stairway leading to a crow’s-nest perch above.

Up, then around, then up again, they climbed thirty feet into the air to arrive at last at a broad enclosed platform.

“All right, girls, you may take over.” A tall man with prematurely gray hair turned toward a door leading from the platform. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, turning half about. Behind his thick glasses Norma saw keen, smiling eyes.

“Why, she—” Beth hesitated.

“I’m one of those WAC’s,” Norma laughed, holding her cap bearing the insignia in the light.

“Oh! We’ve been reading about you. Welcome to our community.” He held out a hand for a firm and friendly clasp. “So when we report ‘One single, flying high,’ we’ll soon be talking to a lady soldier?”

“Guess that’s right,” Norma agreed. “My name’s Norma Kent.”

“I’m Vincent Garson,” he said. “Here’s hoping we meet again.”

“Oh, we shall,” Norma exclaimed.

At that a distinguished-looking man opened the door and stepped out.

“And this is Jim Marston,” said Garson. “Used to be a parson. Now he’s a plain American.”

“And that,” said the retired parson, “is a great privilege.”

“They’re really very famous men,” Beth whispered as they disappeared down the stairs. “Mr. Garson designed the stained glass windows for half the big churches in Boston. And Mr. Marston was a famous Bishop. It takes all sorts, you see,” she added.

“Well, here we are,” Bess exclaimed. “This is our spotter shed. Isn’t it neat?”

“Neat, and very comfortable.” Norma held her hands before the glowing coal fire.

“It cost a thousand dollars. Everyone chipped in, but it’s worth it. It must stand for the duration,” said Beth.

“So you’ll be listening to our reports?” said Bess. “It’s nice to know you. We—we’ll all stand together.”

“That’s right, we must.” Norma’s heart was warmed.

“Oh!” Bess exclaimed. “We’ve forgotten we’re late. It’s time to talk to grandfather.”

Hastily unlocking a closet door in the corner, she wheeled out a strange-looking mechanism with a square of glass at its front.

After connecting some heavy electric wires, she turned on a switch and at once there came a low buzzing sound.

Night was falling. The room was full of shadows.

“Watch,” said Bess.

The square of glass gave forth a faint glow. Then at the center of it, something moved.

“A hand!” Norma thought, with a start.

It was true. Behind that glass appeared a pale hand. It moved. It took on different forms. Now it was clenched with the thumb outside. Now three fingers were folded in while the forefinger and thumb stuck straight out. This was repeated. Once again the hand was clenched, this time with the thumb folded in tight. Three fingers up, one down—all fingers down, thumb bent in, then again three fingers down, forefinger and thumb up, and repeat.

Then the hand vanished.

“He says ‘All is well.’” Bess said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Talking with the dead,” Norma thought with a shudder.