She reflected, humorously, that if the miles of dancing she had done in the past year were placed end to end, as they do it in the almanac’s fascinating facts, they must surely reach to Mars and return.

Whenever the hut door opened to admit a tall, graceful, lean brown figure her heart would give a little leap and a skip.  As the door did this on an average of a thousand times daily her cardiac processes might be said to have been alarmingly accelerated.

Sometimes—­though they did not know it—­she and Chug were within a half hour’s ride of each other.  In all those months they never once met.

Elizabeth Weld came back to Chippewa in June.  The First National Bank Building seemed to have shrunk; and she thought her mother looked old in that youthful hat.  But she was glad to be home and said so.

“It has been awful here,” said the Widow Weld.  “Nothing to do but sew at the Red Cross shop; and no sugar or white bread.”

“It must have been,” agreed Elizabeth.

“They’re giving a dance for you—­and dinner—­a week from Saturday, at the golf club.  In your honour.”

“Dance!” Elizabeth closed her eyes, faintly.  Then, “Who is?”

“Well, Mr. Oakley’s really giving it—­that is, it was his idea.  But the club wanted to tender some fitting—­”

“I won’t go.”

“Oh, yes, you will.”

Elizabeth did not argue the point.  She had two questions to ask.

“Have the boys come back?”

“What boys?”

“The—­the boys.”

“Some of them.  You know about dear Harry Hatton, of course.  Croix de—­”

“What have they done with the Khaki Club, where they used to give the dances?”

“Closed.  Long ago.  There was some talk of keeping it open for a community centre, or something, but it fell through.  Now, Betty, you’ll have to have a dress for Saturday night, I wonder if that old chiffon, with a new—­”

* * * * *

Chug Scaritt came home in September.  The First National Bank Building seemed, somehow, to have shrunk.  And his mother hadn’t had all that gray hair when he left.  He put eager questions about the garage.  Rudie had made out, all right, hadn’t he?  Good old scout.

“The boys down at the garage are giving some kind of a party for you.  Old Rudie was telling me about it.  I’ve got a grand supper for you to-night, Chug.”

“Where’s this party?  I don’t want any party.”

“Woodman’s Hall, I think they said.  There was some girl called up yesterday.  Wanda, her name sounded like.  I couldn’t—­”

“Don’t they give dances any more at the Soldiers’ Club down on Elm?”

“Oh, that’s closed, long.  There was some talk of using it for what they called a community club.  The Eagle was boosting for a big new place.  What they called a Community Memorial Centre.  But I don’t know.  It kind of fell through, I guess.”