The Camp Fire Girls in Glorious France. Vandercook Margaret

a hand, holding an enormous bunch of red and white roses encircled with deep blue forget-me-nots, was thrust above her head.

      Flushing at the contrast, Bettina hurriedly dropped her violets and glanced upward.

      Behind her was a young man, evidently an American, although not a soldier, as he was not wearing a uniform.

      “I beg your pardon, I hope I have not interfered with you,” an American voice apologized.

      But before Bettina was able to do more than shake her head, there was an unexpected movement in the crowd and she and Peggy were again pushed onward.

      A few feet ahead Miss Patricia was looking back and signaling. They could see that a girl had been lifted on the shoulders of two soldiers. The crowd was now following them.

      When the girl began singing, the crowd became quieter. Her voice was clear and beautiful; she was singing the “Marseillaise,” then snatches of Allied songs.

      Evidently the girl, whom the soldiers were bearing along in triumph, was some celebrated artist, who was giving the best she had to give to the people as her tribute to France. And the crowd now and then sang with her, whatever words of whatever national song they knew.

      Finally toward dusk, the Camp Fire girls and Miss Patricia found themselves returning to the neighborhood of their pension. Lights were beginning to shine along the boulevards, when Paris until tonight had been in darkness for nearly four long years.

      At a street corner where the crowd had thinned, Miss Patricia waited with Yvonne and Myra until the other four girls had caught up with them.

      “You girls, can make your way home from here alone, can’t you?” she inquired. “I really must see Polly Burton before this day is past. I must say a few words to her else I shall never feel the day’s celebration has satisfied me.”

      “Of course, Aunt Patricia, but since we all feel exactly as you do, why not let us go with you?” Peggy answered.

      Soon after the Camp Fire girls and Miss Lord found Mrs. Burton seated by a window in her hospital bedroom, holding a little book in her hand and, except that she was pale from the excitement of the day, looking extraordinarily well.

      “Oh, I never, never, never have been so glad to see people before!” she cried, jumping up and embracing Miss Patricia. “If you only knew what it has meant to stay here in a hospital with my nose glued against the window pane, when all the world is going mad with joy, you would be truly sorry for me. I think I should have tried to make my escape, if my doctor had not telephoned me I was not to think of going out for a moment. I suppose, Aunt Patricia, you managed to telephone him this instruction last night because you imagined the armistice would be signed today. But please everybody tell me at once just what you have seen and done.”

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      See “The Camp Fire Girls on the Field of Honor.”