As far as the eye could reach, from Nieuport to the sea at the left, and on toward Ypres at the right of them, the line of Belgians, French and British steadily faced the foe.  Close to where they halted the ambulance stood a detachment that had lately retired from the line, their places having been taken by reserves.  One of the officers told Mr. Merrick that they had been facing bullets since daybreak and the men seemed almost exhausted.  Their faces were blackened by dust and powder and their uniforms torn and disordered; many stood without caps or coats despite the chill in the air.  And yet these fellows were laughing together and chatting as pleasantly as children just released from school.  Even those who had wounds made light of their hurts.  Clouds of smoke hovered low in the air; the firing was incessant.

Our girls were thrilled by this spectacle as they had never been thrilled before—­perhaps never might be again.  While they still kept their seats, Maurie started with a sudden jerk, made a sharp turn and ran the ambulance across a ridge of solid earth that seemed to be the only one of such character amongst all that waste of sand.  It brought them somewhat closer to the line but their driver drew up behind a great dune that afforded them considerable protection.

Fifty yards away was another ambulance with its wheels buried to the hubs in the loose sand.  Red Cross nurses and men wearing the emblem on their arms and caps were passing here and there, assisting the injured with “first aid,” temporarily bandaging heads, arms and legs or carrying to the rear upon a stretcher a more seriously injured man.  Most of this corps were French; a few were English; some were Belgian.  Our friends were the only Americans on the field.

Uncle John’s face was very grave as he alighted in the wake of his girls, who paid no attention to the fighting but at once ran to assist some of the wounded who came staggering toward the ambulance, some even creeping painfully on hands and knees.  In all Mr. Merrick’s conceptions of the important mission they had undertaken, nothing like the nature of this desperate conflict had even dawned upon him.  He had known that the Red Cross was respected by all belligerents, and that knowledge had led him to feel that his girls would be fairly safe; but never had he counted on spent bullets, stray shells or the mad rush of a charge.

“Very good!” cried Maurie briskly.  “Here we see what no one else can see.  The Red Cross is a fine passport to the grand stand of war.”

“Come with me—­quick!” shouted Ajo, his voice sounding shrill through the din.  “I saw a fellow knocked out—­there—­over yonder!”

As he spoke he grabbed a stretcher and ran forward, Maurie following at his heels.  Uncle John saw the smoke swallow them up, saw Beth and Maud each busy with lint, plasters and bandages, saw Patsy supporting a tall, grizzled warrior who came limping toward the car.  Then he turned and saw Doctor Gys, crouching low against the protecting sand, his disfigured face working convulsively and every limb trembling as with an ague.