There came a day in mid-April that will always be remembered by the dwellers in Valhalla. Herz had walked home from school with Douglas, and contrary to his custom, had come in when they reached the house. He was in a strange, fierce humor and it seemed to Douglas as though his near-sighted eyes were boring holes in her. She could not keep her mind and talk off the war and whenever war was mentioned he became very glum.

“Now that we are at war, will you not enlist?” she asked. “If you are a true American, I do not see how you can help it.”

“My eyes would debar me. Near-sighted men can’t always serve where they would like to,” he answered rather bitterly. “You see good in no one but a soldier.”

“Why, not at all!” blushed Douglas. “Of course, when my country is at war I want our young men to be willing to fight. Being a girl is all that keeps me here. You might work in a munition factory and help that way.”

“Ah, I should like that! Would you think more of me if I could help your country in some way?”

“Your country, too!”

Herz had come so close to her as they stood in the middle of the quaint old living-room that Douglas felt a desire to run away. She welcomed the sight of Helen running across the lawn from the direction of Grantly.

“Guess!” panted Helen, bursting in on them. “I have seen James Hanks! He was sneaking out of the kitchen at Grantly. Had been in to see Tempy, I reckon. The man is crazy about her. Miss Louise saw him, too, and has ’phoned Mr. Sutton. I fancy he is on the way over here now with those western cousins of his. Funny men, aren’t they? Miss Ella says she never heard of either Mr. or Mrs. Sutton’s having any western kin, and she has known them and all their people for pretty near a century. I believe they are detectives myself, trying to find those runaway darkies.”

While Helen was giving out this information, Herz stood as though he had turned to stone. His face was white with a red spot on each high cheek bone.

“Where is your carrier pigeon?” he asked Douglas abruptly.

“The cage hangs on the porch.”

He drew from his pocket a small note-book and wrote rapidly in it. Tearing out the sheet, he strode to the porch, and with a small rubber band he quickly attached the note to the foot of the docile bird that he had grabbed from the cage without even a “by your leave.”

“What are you doing?” demanded Douglas. Was the man crazy?

“Stop!” cried Helen. “Count de Lestis gave that bird to my sister.”

“Yes, and she was to send him a message. This is the message. It is as he would have it, I am sure. You remember he told you he would rather someone would seek him than search him. He shall have his choice.”

He carried the pigeon out on the lawn and freed it. The clever bird rose in a spiral flight and then started straight towards Weston and its mate. Without a word, Herz left the girls and started towards Weston, too, taking a line almost as straight as the one the pigeon had chosen.

“Is he crazy, Douglas?”

“I think he is something worse. I believe he is afraid of detectives.”

The count and his confederate got away,—although they were captured later on in North Carolina. The faithful red car carried them off rapidly. De Lestis was waiting for his one time secretary at the cross roads by Paradise.

“Did you destroy the papers and maps?” gasped that gentleman as he sprang into the car.

“How could I when your call was so urgent? I brought all the money, though. Those fools will never find the wireless. They have no imagination. And I have the grey paint to put my darling here in her uniform.”

That night, after having speeded for hours, the two men drew the little red car into the woods where they painted her a dingy grey. The count had purchased the paint only the day before at the country store.

“In case of an emergency!” he had told Herz.

Little did he dream that one of the visitors at Mr. Sutton’s found out before night that he had bought the paint, and that when messages were sent in every direction to look out for two German spies, information was also given that they would be in a red car that had more than likely been painted grey.

When Weston was thoroughly searched, many things besides the wireless station were brought to light. One of the detectives brought to Douglas a letter addressed in Lewis Somerville’s writing.

“Where did you find it?” blushed Douglas.

“In the count’s desk! I am sorry to have to tell you that it was my duty to read it before giving it to you.”

It was the letter Lewis had written from the Mexican border and no wonder Douglas blushed. He had made most violent love to her in this letter and had also spoken quite openly of the situation in Mexico from a soldier’s standpoint.

“Nothing is too small for them!” cried Douglas.

“But what an escape we have made!” exclaimed Helen. “I bet you that man has made love to every one of us except Lucy.”

“He had better not say anything sweet to me,” said that young lady. “Mag and I never could abide him.”

“Well, I liked him a whole lot,” sighed Nan. “He appreciated poetry so thoroughly.”

There were three young men who were secretly glad when the count and Herz were caught: Dr. Wright, Lewis Somerville and Billy Sutton. They did not wish to be ungenerous, but it was hard to have your especial girl monopolized on every occasion.

The Misses Grant never could be made to understand that their precious count was a spy. “He was a charming gentleman and we want to hear nothing unkind about him,” they actually agreed.

Mrs. Carter insisted it was all the doings of that common Herz, who did not know how to conduct himself in a ballroom and who held his fork so awkwardly at the table. And Mr. Carter, true to his professional instinct, declared he had had his doubts about de Lestis from the moment he sacrificed his roof line to the pigeon house.

But whatever the opinion held by the various members of the Carter family, all agreed that the surprising summer at Valhalla was one long to be remembered. Fascinating as had been its mysteries, its uncertainties, its new friendships and responsibilities however, not one of the family was sorry to return to Richmond. There, as fall advanced into winter, new doors of opportunity were opened and old associations renewed. Once more there were numbered among the city’s happily busy people “The Carter Girls of Carter House.”

THE END