“But I was not upon the window sill,” interrupted Odette laughing. “Moreover, I was not seen, for at this moment every one eats and there were few to look up, for those who were not indoors eating were thinking of what they should eat, and one does not look for food in the skies or on roofs. No, I assure you, I was quite safe.” So the subject was dismissed and Lucie led the way into her little room, saying, “It is more pleasant here by my window. We will sit here and tell of our adventures.” “And will the little dog sit in my lap? I had a dear dog at home but he is also dead, killed by a bomb, they said. It was strange that I did not weep when I was told, but I think I had no more tears. I shed them all when my mother died.” Into the child’s brown eyes came a haunted look, as if she were seeing things beyond power of words to tell. She was a slightly built, thin little creature, not so tall as Lucie and of darker skin. The tears came to Lucie’s eyes as she lifted Pom Pom into her visitor’s lap. The dog looked inquiringly at his mistress but seemed to understand that he was to remain, and was very quiet under the caressing touch of Odette’s hand. “We had a little farm,” Odette went on, “and we were very happy, but I shall never see that home again, for it does not exist. There is nothing there, nothing but deep holes in the ground, no trees, no house, no barn; all is destroyed, the house and barn burned, the trees cut down, the fields plowed up by bullets and bombs. There is nothing to go back to, and no one is there. Oh, I know, for I have heard my aunt tell it over and over again, and when I shut my eyes at night I can imagine it, that horrible place of holes where no one lives. I do not wish to see it, but sometimes I dream of my home, yet when I wake I know it is only a dream, only a dream.” She shook her head mournfully, and the tragic expression in her eyes deepened. In another moment, however, she tossed up her head with a gesture of defiance. “I will not think of it. I will think only of France, and of her soldiers. You have a soldier papa. Tell me of him and of your home.” “My papa is a captain. He went at once. He was wounded, but at last news he was improving. Paulette managed to find out this, and we are now trying to get word of my mamma, and of my grandfather. We expected to find my grandfather here in Paris, but he has not come and those good ladies at the _ouvroir_ are trying to find out what has become of him. Our home was not a farm but in a small town where my father had a factory as his father had before him. We are afraid all is destroyed, but we do not know. We had a pretty garden and such pleasant neighbors. I hope, oh, I do hope all is not destroyed, and that we can go back. I cannot imagine being happy anywhere else.” Odette looked at her compassionately. “It seems that you are very young,” she said. “Me, I feel so old. I think I have lived many years in a few weeks, and yet I am only fifteen.”