Barbara Meade was chosen as the suitable one of the three girls to accompany Eugenia out of Belgium.

There were a number of reasons for this decision, but the most important was that her friends agreed she was most in need of a change. Another point was that Eugenia appeared to prefer to have her.

But the journey could not be expected to be an altogether pleasant one. Eugenia was still ill enough to be a responsibility, and, moreover, the German authorities did not hesitate to express their wish to be rid of her as soon as possible. It was for this reason that the trip was planned as soon as it was in the least feasible.

Toward the middle of December the preparations for departure were finally concluded. It was arranged that Nona Davis and Mildred Thornton should remain in charge of Eugenia's house in the woods for a time. For the children must continue being cared for. Therefore, the American hospital in Brussels had agreed temporarily to dispense with their services. Later on perhaps it might be possible to make a more definite arrangement. But at present Nona and Mildred were both pleased to have a change in their work. Besides, this change afforded them the chance to stay on with their friends until the actual time of their leave-taking.

Neither of the four girls ever forgot the final moment of farewell.

Since daylight they had talked about everything else under the sun except the fact that they might not meet again for many months. For under the circumstances naturally their future plans were indefinite.

Barbara and Eugenia had been informed that they would be escorted to the frontiers of Holland. Once within the neutral state no further observation would be made of them and they could go where they chose.

They had determined to cross at once to England and then, lingering only long enough for Eugenia to rest, to travel by slow stages to southern France. Once there, they were once more to take refuge in the little "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door."

For in the midst of Eugenia's illness a letter had arrived from Madame Castaigne. In it she had demanded that Miss Peabody be removed at once from a country at present overrun by barbarians. In her opinion, the American Red Cross girls should never have departed from the protection of her beloved France. Whenever it was possible the farmhouse was at their disposal. Moreover, Madame Castaigne suffered for their companionship. For she and FranÇois had been entirely alone for months. Captain Castaigne was away in another part of the country with his regiment.

So it had been both Eugenia's and Barbara's fancy to go back for a time to the little house they had both loved. When Eugenia had entirely recovered her health, they could then decide on the next step.

At Eugenia's request no one of their many friends in Brussels came out to say good-bye on the last day. For her own sake and the happiness of the children she wished her departure to be as quiet as possible.

She and Barbara were therefore ready and waiting by noon, when the German officer arrived who was to take them to the border line.

Neither of the girls had been informed who this man might be, nor what his character and rank.

Personally, Barbara felt a considerable anxiety. So much of the comfort of the first of their journey would depend on his courtesy. Then there was the chance that Eugenia might be less strong than they hoped and fall ill again along the way.

Yet Eugenia herself seemed to have no qualms upon the subject. Her one desire appeared to be to get away, to return to the country she had wilfully turned her back upon. For it had been chiefly due to Eugenia's influence that the American Red Cross girls had left France to begin a new service in Belgium.

Finally, when the German officer arrived, Nona, Mildred and Barbara were equally discouraged by his manner and appearance.

In the first place, he was a man of a rough and surly exterior. He was only a sergeant, with an overbearing and insolent method of speaking. Indeed, he made no pretence of treating Eugenia in any way except as an intruder who had come dangerously near being a traitor to his government. Therefore, he had nothing but scorn and dislike of her.

He would have chosen to travel with his prisoner in handcuffs, but since this had been forbidden she should be allowed no other consideration.

So Nona and Mildred had to kiss their friends good-bye with the German sergeant staring at them disdainfully. Then before they realized what was taking place they beheld Eugenia and Barbara being marched down the path toward a car which was to take them to their train.

Eugenia could scarcely keep up with the rapid pace demanded of her. She looked very ill and fragile and Barbara very tiny to have her clinging for support to her arm.

Neither Mildred nor Nona could see distinctly at the last. Afterwards they remembered that Eugenia and Bab had both waved their hands just as the motor car plunged ahead down the narrow path through the woods.

They had promised to write as soon as it was possible to get a letter through the lines. But there was a chance that their mail must first be sent to the United States and then have to recross the ocean.

Naturally the two girls who had been left behind were deeply depressed. Yet they had little time for reflection. For Eugenia had asked that the children be given a feast as soon as she was safely out of the way. Moreover, there was Nicolete dissolved in tears! She had wished to accompany her friend, but on account of Monsieur BebÉ's helplessness had been persuaded to remain behind.

Work is ever the solace of sorrow, as Mildred and Nona both discovered ten minutes after their parting from the other two Red Cross girls.

But Eugenia and Barbara had no such immediate consolation.

Half a dozen times in the next few hours Barbara greatly desired to start a war on her own account. Yet in spite of her somewhat fiery temperament she could say and do nothing. It was not on her own account that she was so angry, but for the sake of her friend.

For notwithstanding her apparent weakness, Eugenia was forced to travel in a train so crowded that she started upon her journey standing up. Barbara's protest against this as an impossibility availed nothing. But a few moments later a Belgian woman took compassion upon them. She was old but sturdy and determined and Eugenia's refusal to occupy her place she would not consider. Moreover, the girl had by this time reached such a condition that she must either sit down or fall. Though desiring her to be as wretched as possible, even her guard appreciated this fact.

Afterwards Barbara decided that she had never gone through more trying hours than those she endured on their way into Holland.

Eugenia scarcely spoke a dozen words. Indeed, she appeared happily unconscious of a great deal of the insolence leveled at her. But Barbara missed nothing. The sergeant's every glance at Eugenia was an insult, whenever he spoke to her it was with a growl. Perhaps his task of driving an American girl out of a once friendly country was such a disagreeable one that no one except a bear would have wished to undertake it.

However, both Barbara and Eugenia were willing exiles. The moment when the girls realized that their feet were upon Dutch soil was the happiest they had spent in many weeks. For here at last their guard said good-bye to them. At least, though he used no words, his behavior had the effect of a good-bye. What he actually did was to deposit them upon the platform of a railroad station, then with a grunt of disfavor turn and stride away. But the girls both knew that the next train on which they were to travel would run through the peaceful Dutch country.

By night they arrived at a Dutch port. In spite of the peril of floating mines and submarines the Holland passenger boats were still making their nightly journeys to the English coast.

Naturally there were but few passengers aboard, as no one was crossing for pleasure. But tonight there were a small number of business men and a few women.

At eight o'clock in the evening their boat sailed, and immediately after Barbara and Eugenia went to bed. Food was brought to their stateroom, but they were too weary and too excited to eat, so it was scarcely nine o'clock when they were both sound asleep.

Of course they appreciated the possible danger of their crossing. But as a matter of fact neither Barbara nor Eugenia gave the idea five minutes' thought. When one has lived in the midst of war's tragedies and terrors, one no longer worries over possible misfortunes. There is time enough when the blow falls.

Therefore, at midnight the two friends were peacefully sleeping, when they were awakened by an extraordinary sensation and then a tumultuous noise.

Suddenly their little steamer had come to an abrupt halt in mid-sea. There was no warning, no gradual slowing down. One moment they had been traveling at full speed, the next they were at a complete standstill. Then there began a tremendous rushing about on the deck above the floor where the two American Red Cross girls had their berths. Soon after a heavy splash followed as if something had been dropped into the sea.

Although they were both awakened with the first reversal of the boat's engines, neither of the girls spoke until after the noise subsided.

Then it was Eugenia.

"Something extraordinary has happened, Bab dear," she said quietly. "I think you had best go and see what it is. I have a feeling that perhaps our boat is going to sink. But there has been no explosion so far!"

Eugenia was extraordinarily calm, almost passive. One may not believe this state of mind to be possible, but wait until you have had just such a personal experience with danger.

Barbara's answer was to scramble quickly out of the upper berth. She chanced to be wearing a warm blue wrapper which served as a gown. So now she only needed to slip her fur coat over it and pull down her gray squirrel cap over her brown curls.

"Be getting dressed, Eugenia, while I find out what has happened. I'll come back in a moment," she advised.

But once outside her stateroom, Barbara discovered only a mild excitement. A few passengers were running up and down the narrow hallway, clinging to scanty costumes. One of them explained the situation to Barbara.

"Nothing's much amiss, we are all getting too nervous these days," he commented. "Our ship has just run up against a solid bank of fog. As we can't see an inch ahead of us, our captain has too good sense to go on in the darkness. We may have to stay here an hour, or twenty-four, there is no telling. Hope a submarine won't come along and pick us off." And with this parting pleasantry Barbara's new acquaintance departed.

The next instant Barbara returned and opened her stateroom door.

"Go back to sleep, Gene dear, everything is serene," she said reassuringly; "there is only a heavy fog at sea. I want to go up on deck and investigate, so please don't worry about me."

A few moments later Barbara was groping her way about on deck until she discovered an empty steamer chair. This she crawled into, tucking her feet up under her and snuggling down close in the darkness. She could still hear the sailors rushing about on deck. Now and then she could even catch the dim outline of a figure, but nothing else was discernible. The very lights suspended from the ship's side were pale and flickering.

Yet it was all immensely interesting. Outside the ship both sky and water had apparently ceased to exist. One could see only a solid mass of gray-black fog like a wet and heavy veil overspreading the world.

Barbara had recovered from her fatigue with her few hours of sleep. Never had she felt more wide awake or more excited. If only it were possible to see more.

Suddenly she jumped up from her chair. It is true the decks were wet and slippery and since she could not see her way about, nor be seen, she might be in danger of falling. Nevertheless, Barbara decided to risk the danger. A tumble more or less need not be serious and she was freezing from sitting still. And yet she had not the faintest intention or desire of going back to her stateroom.

The fog might last for many hours, but then there was the chance that it might lift at any moment. Barbara greatly desired to see the spectacle of a familiar world emerging from darkness into light.

Fortunately her side of the deck appeared to be entirely deserted.

She rose and walked a few steps up and down, compelled to go slowly, for the fog lay like a damp weight upon her chest, pressing her backward with its dim, invisible hands.

But after a little time, growing bolder when the desire to gaze down into the water swept over her, she turned and walked blindly forward. Within a few paces she reached out to grasp the ship's rails.

But instead her hands touched something warm and human. Immediately she gave a smothered cry of embarrassment and fright.

"I am so sorry," she murmured apologetically, then with a characteristic laugh. "But really I don't know whether I have run into you or you into me. Will you please move to the right and I'll go to the left. Then we need never meet again."

"Barbara," began a familiar voice.

For the second time the girl's hands stretched forward, but this time they clung to the coat of the young fellow standing within a few feet of her.

"Dick Thornton, can it be possible this is you, when you are in Brussels?" she protested. "But then how can it be any one except you, although I have not seen you. If it is only your ghost I am holding on to, at least it is a very substantial one, and I never was so glad to meet any other ghost in my life."

In answer Dick Thornton laughed out loud. "Did anyone in the world ever talk in such a ridiculous fashion as Barbara, and yet was there ever anyone so delightful?" He slipped his arm through the girl's.

"Let us walk up and down for a few moments while I explain the reality of my presence," he suggested, quietly taking his companion's consent for granted.

"Personally, I think it would be the more surprising if I were not here. Did you think for an instant I would allow you and Eugenia to go on this long trip alone, when Eugenia has been so ill? I did not mention the subject to you girls, since I did not intend to have a discussion. But whether you allow it or not I shall be your faithful follower until you reach the little French farmhouse."

Barbara's eyes were swimming with unexpected tears.

"You are the kindest person in the world always, Dick," she answered. "And I can't tell you how glad I am to have you with us! I did dread the responsibility of Gene more than I would confess. Besides, I want you to see our 'House with the Blue Front Door.' But I wonder if it is fair to Mildred and Nona to have you leave them for even a short time? Your place is with them rather than any one else, isn't it?"

"My place is beside you, Barbara, whenever you are willing to have me," Dick returned in such a matter-of-fact fashion that his companion did not at once understand the meaning of his words.

"Your place beside me?" she repeated slowly. "Why, how is that possible when Mildred is your sister and Nona——"

But Dick was drawing her toward the side of the ship and now they were both leaning against the railing looking down at the glossy darkness beneath them.

"Yes, Mildred is my sister and Nona my friend," Dick continued, "yet neither one of them can mean to me what the girl I would choose above all others to be my wife means. Don't answer me for a moment, Barbara. I have no delusion about your feeling for me, but that makes no difference. I want you to know that ever since those first days in New York you have filled the greater portion of my world. No matter what may happen to divide us, nor how far your life may lead away from mine, I shall not change."

The girl and man were standing within only a few feet of each other. Now Barbara moved closer and laid her hand on her companion's coat sleeve.

"I am not very anxious for anything to divide us, nor for my life to lead far away from yours," she whispered.

At this moment the bank of fog rolled up as if it were a stage curtain being raised in answer to the prompter's bell, when for the first time that evening Dick and Barbara caught the vision of each other's faces.