"I want you to know that I understand who the ghost was last night, Eugenia," Barbara said unexpectedly next morning.

Eugenia was just about to leave her bedroom, Nicolete having gone downstairs half an hour before.

At these words the older girl turned and stood straight and severe with her shoulders braced against the wall as if for support.

"What do you mean?" she inquired slowly.

Barbara had not finished dressing. Indeed, she was in the undignified attitude of sitting on one side of the bed putting on her stockings. Nevertheless, she gazed at Eugenia squarely.

"I mean just what I said," she answered. "That is, of course, I don't know the name or the age or the identity of the man I saw by accident in the woods last night. But I realize that he must be the same person you have been concealing ever since you took this house. Naturally he must grow weary of the long confinement and be obliged to go outdoors now and then at night."

Eugenia had not replied, so Barbara went on thinking aloud.

"Or else some one may have been coming to the house with a message for the person in hiding. Of course, I don't know whether your refugee is a man or woman. But whoever he or she may be, goodness knows, I'll be grateful enough when the escape is over and this house left behind!"

Eugenia's face whitened at the younger girl's words. Nevertheless, she again turned as if she meant to leave the room without an answer.

Barbara was too quick for her.

She took hold of both her shoulders and pulled her gently around.

"I would rather you would say something, Gene. I have been doing all the talking ever since I arrived. One minute I can't decide whether I ought to try and find out who this person is you have in hiding, or what your reason is. Then I wonder if it is best I should leave you alone? But please, please don't run any risks. You know that if you are defying the German authorities and are found out, what your punishment may be. What could I possibly do to help you? I feel so powerless. I can't tell you how I have longed to confide my suspicion to Dick Thornton or the girls and ask their advice. But I have kept absolutely silent."

"Thank you," Eugenia said, and then waited another moment. "Sit down, please, Barbara," she added. "I suppose it is only fair that I offer you some explanation. You have been so good."

Barbara did as she was requested. But Eugenia continued to stand. Her level, dark brows were drawn close together and her face was pale. Otherwise she looked entirely self-possessed, sure of herself and her position.

"I am not going to tell you that I have any one in hiding here, Barbara. If questions are ever asked of you, you are to know absolutely nothing. But I want you to understand that I appreciate perfectly the danger of what I have undertaken and have done it with my eyes open. If I am punished, well, at least I have always faced the possibility. But after today, dear, if things go as we hope, you need no longer worry over me. So far I feel pretty sure the Germans in command of this part of the country have not suspected our house in the woods of being anything more than a shelter for defenseless Belgian children. And really that has been my chief motive in all that I have done."

Barbara sighed. "God keep us through the day," she murmured, quoting a childish prayer.

Then Eugenia went downstairs to her work and a short time later the younger girl followed her.

Barbara was to remain until after lunch. But at her friend's request she spent most of the time in the yard with the children and Monsieur BebÉ. Whatever went on inside the house neither she nor any of the others were to be allowed to know.

As a special pleasure the children were to be permitted to eat their luncheon under an old tree in the one-time garden. This garden now held no flowers except two or three old rosebushes and overgrown shrubs.

The heat of yesterday had returned and with it even more sultriness. There were heavy clouds overhead, but no immediate sign of rain. It was one of those days that are always peculiarly hard to endure. The air was heavy and languid with a kind of brooding stillness that comes before the storm.

The nerves of everybody seemed to be on edge. Monsieur BebÉ had lost his courage of yesterday and sat silent in his chair with his head resting in his hand. Was he dreaming of Provence before France was driven into war? Or was he hearing again the cracking of rifles, the booming of cannon, all the noises of the past year of life in a trench?

Several times Barbara did her best to distract his attention, but the French boy could do nothing more than try to be polite. It was evident that he hardly heard what she said to him. Nicolete was too engaged with her duties in the house to offer companionship. Nevertheless, she came back and forth into the yard. Now and then she would stop for a moment to speak to Monsieur Reney, who was Monsieur BebÉ only to Barbara, who had so named him.

Nicolete was busy in arranging the outdoor luncheon for the children. For she it was who brought out the dishes and the chairs. Only once did she have any assistance and then the maid from the kitchen helped her with the luncheon table. Neither Eugenia nor the woman whom they called "Louise" was seen all morning.

So to Barbara fell the entire task of looking after the children. Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps they too were vaguely conscious that something unusual was going on about them, for they were extremely difficult.

Not once, but half a dozen times, each child insisted upon going into the house to search for Eugenia. She could not be busy for so long a time that she could not come out to them, they protested. This had never happened before.

Jan and Bibo were particularly sulky, nevertheless Barbara continued firm. Jan had been made her especial charge. Whatever happened he must be kept away from all knowledge of what was transpiring in the big house only a few yards off.

This world is ever a double mask with the face of tragedy painted upon one side and of comedy upon the other.

So often Barbara thought of this during the long hours of the morning.

Sometimes she was whirling about with the children in a ring, singing at the top of her voice to keep their attention engaged. Yet at the same moment her thoughts were all concentrated upon what was going on in the house with Eugenia. Whom had she in hiding all these weeks, risking her own liberty for his or her safety? And how was it possible that any human being could escape from Belgium whom the Germans wished to detain?

Yet not a carriage nor a human being approached the house from the front. Of this Barbara was absolutely certain. Always when it was possible she had kept a watchful lookout. Besides, there was Jan who had appointed himself sentinel.

The boy could not consciously have been expecting disaster. Not a human being had given him a hint of what was to take place. Yet he simply refused to play when the other children invited him.

When Barbara explained that Eugenia insisted he remain out of the house, he made no effort toward disobedience. He merely took up a position as far away as possible, but one where he could still see the house and at the same time keep a lookout ahead. For his quiet gray eyes would study the landscape beyond him sometimes for five minutes, then he would turn his head and gaze toward the house. Satisfied that he could discover nothing wrong there, he would again begin his former scrutiny.

He was an interesting figure; Barbara studied him whenever she had a chance. Here was a child whom the war had not so far injured physically. Although ill some weeks before he had since recovered. Yet he would bear the scars that the war had made upon his spirit so long as he should live. Bibo's lameness was as nothing to this boy's hurt. There was a look of abnormal gravity in his eyes, of an understanding of sorrows that a child of ten should know nothing of. He was fearful and frightened and yet there was something indomitable in the child's watching.

He recalled the gallant army of children crusaders who, led by Stephen of France, went forth to wrest Jerusalem from the infidels. So their little sentinels must have waited wide-eyed and courageous, yet sick with dread, for the ravenous hosts to overpower them.

Another possibility worried Barbara and the children all morning. There was a prospect that rain might come and so spoil their luncheon party. Suppose they should be compelled to scamper for shelter just at the critical moment in Eugenia's plans?

The rain did not come. It must have been just a little after twelve o'clock when Eugenia finally walked down the front steps into the yard. She did not look toward Barbara, but her appearance was enough. Whatever she had wished to accomplish was now over.

Although at the moment she was engaged in learning a new Belgian game, Barbara had to suggest that she be allowed to sit down for a time. Eugenia might be able to look as calm as an inland lake, but she felt uncomfortably agitated.

First Eugenia spoke to Monsieur BebÉ. Then she walked down to where Jan was standing. She said nothing to the boy, but put her arm on his shoulder. Afterwards they walked back together toward the other children. But Jan's expression had entirely changed. He was smiling now and his cheeks were happily flushed, yet he kept his hand tightly clutched in his friend's.

Soon after Nicolete came out of the house with a great tray of sandwiches. There was real ham between some of them and peanut butter between the others. Moreover, there was an enormous dish of baked potatoes and another of beans. For some reason the children did not understand, for it was neither Sunday nor a saint's day, they were to have a feast.

The table, which had been easy enough to arrange, since it was only a couple of boards laid upon carpenter's horses, was set in the middle of the garden, partly shaded by an old elm tree. The garden was just a few yards to the left of the house and in plain view of any one approaching.

Naturally Eugenia took her place at the head of the table, with Nicolete at the other end. Barbara was on Eugenia's right, with her eyes on the scene ahead. She could see the edge of the woods with the path that connected the house with the outside world. Jan was next her with the same outlook upon the surroundings.

It was Jan who saw the two German officers approaching with a guard of eight soldiers behind them a few moments later.

The boy had just lifted a sandwich to his lips when something in his rigid attitude first attracted Barbara's attention. She then let her knife drop onto the table.

The noise startled Eugenia, for she too looked up. Instantly Barbara explained what was happening.

"Don't stir and please don't appear to be frightened before the children," Eugenia ordered. "I must go and meet the officers, but I'll wait until they are nearer."

So the German soldiers had a clear vision of Eugenia and the children as they approached. The rough board table had no cover, but in the center was a bunch of wild flowers that the children had gathered in the neglected fields.

In order to keep them from seeing too soon what must inevitably happen, Eugenia started the singing of a Belgian translation of the Russian "Prayer for Peace."

It was perhaps the song that came most from her heart at the moment, although she and her little companions had been trying to learn it for several weeks past.

Then when the German officers were within a few yards of her, Eugenia got up and walked quietly forward. She did not go alone though, because Jan held on to her skirts so tightly that there was no possibility of tearing him loose.

"Will you wait a moment, please, until the children can be taken to another part of the yard?" Eugenia asked quietly. "Some of them are very young and will only be terrified and confused by our conversation. I think most of them are afraid of soldiers."

There was no reproach in the girl's tone as she said this. But the sting was inevitably there.

However, the older of the two officers bowed his head and Nicolete led the reluctant children away.

By this time Barbara had placed herself at one side her friend next to little Jan. And poor Monsieur BebÉ, hearing the voices, had crept blindly forward to within a few feet of the little company.

In the meantime the soldiers had divided: two of them stood before the front door and two had retired to the rear of the house. The other four guarded either side.

"You are under arrest, Fraulein," the German officer began. He was stern, but rigidly polite.

"Very well," Eugenia answered. "In five minutes I can be ready to go with you. But tell me, please, of what I am accused."

"You are accused of harboring a Belgian spy, a Colonel Carton, who got back through the lines, disguised as a German soldier and into his wife's home in Brussels. His effort was to obtain certain papers and information and then return to King Albert and the British Allies. We have reason to believe Colonel Carton is still in your house." The officer at this instant drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

Naturally Eugenia flinched, yet she held out her hands.

"Your intention is to search my house. You will, of course, do what you wish. But remember that I am an American citizen and under the protection of the United States flag."

Then one of the officers remained in the yard while the other led his soldiers into the house.

Ten, fifteen minutes passed. Eugenia talked quietly to Barbara. She begged her to ask permission of the hospital authorities to allow her to stay with the children. She told her where she might obtain the money for keeping up their expenses. Some time before she had written a letter giving Barbara her power of attorney. Almost every detail had been arranged.

Of course, Eugenia was frightened. She was not unlike other people, only that she had a stronger will and sometimes a finer determination.

Finally the German officer and his soldiers returned.

"We can find no trace of Colonel Carton or his wife," the younger officer reported. "However, a servant from their household in Brussels is here and I have reason to believe the two children of Madame and Colonel Carton."

Still Jan, who had never let go his hold on Eugenia, did not flinch. Not once did he even glance up toward one of the German soldiers, nor give a sign that might betray him or his protector.

"I am sorry, but you must go with us until the circumstances can be more thoroughly investigated," the older officer commanded.

A short time afterwards Eugenia went quietly away. One of the soldiers carried her suitcase. Since she marched between them and showed no intention of giving trouble, the officer had taken off the handcuffs. Evidently he meant to be as courteous as possible under the circumstances. Moreover, Eugenia's dignity was impressive.

All through the interview Barbara had felt her knees trembling so beneath her that she felt unable to stand. Her hands were like ice and her cheeks on fire; moreover, there was a lump in her throat which made her totally unable to speak.

Nevertheless, she did speak whenever a question was asked of her, nor did she shed a tear until Eugenia had gone.

It was curious, but no one broke down, not even Jan. He merely kept his hold on Eugenia's skirt until she started to leave.

Then Eugenia herself unloosed his hands. He had been on his knees before and he made no effort to get up afterwards.

Finally, when Barbara lifted the boy in her arms she found it was because he was too weak to stand.