Tom and Jack, as well as Harry Leroy, had had their close calls, but somehow it seemed as though they were watched over by a kind Providence, for so far none of them had met with a serious mishap. There were compensations, too; for after a hard day's work in the air how pleasant it was for Jack to lounge in the temporary field hut of the Red Triangle and watch Bessie's nimble fingers handing out hot coffee, sandwiches, or any of the hundred-and-one things which those industrious workers managed to have in store for the wearers of Uncle Sam's khaki, so as to make them feel that here was indeed a touch of home life, though far removed from the actual thing. And then perhaps from time to time, when Bessie was relieved by some other worker, how delightful it was to find a chance to sit with her, sipping tea, and chatting. Of course Jack had long ago confided to her all that had happened to him and to Tom and Harry since last they had met in Paris. If he was over modest in his descriptions, especially when speaking of his personal doings, why, Bessie had imagination, and could easily color the narrative to suit her own ideas of what was fit and proper. This sort of thing could not keep up indefinitely, of course. The losses which the American army was sustaining were very severe, for they never allowed themselves to be balked of their object. If they found after trying that it was impossible to secure what they were after one way, they turned around and went at it from a second, perhaps even a third angle, but what in the end they gained their objective. But it was known that they had now arrived close to the northern edge of that vast wooded tract. For twenty-three days they had battled continuously and pushed their lines forward in a way that must have been peculiarly discouraging to Hindenburg. His generals, who knew the ground best, had assured the Hun commander that no army on earth could ever force the Argonne Forest, defended as it was by every possible contrivance ever invented by a cunning Boche brain. Yet here in October those persistent Yankees were on the point of emerging from the bloody shambles, and ready to continue the drive to the banks of the Rhine, if need be. It was on one of those never-to-be-forgotten October nights that Jack entered the tent that was being used as the temporary rest house for the Y. M. C. A. workers, with a hastily dug hole adjoining where the girls could seek shelter in case the Boche became troublesome with his shells or bombs. He motioned to Tom whom he found chatting with Bessie. The place was crowded as usual. Some of the doughboys had taken possession of the battered old piano, moved up each day as though it were their choicest possession, as indeed it really was. They sang their favorite songs over and over again, and seemed to enjoy every minute of the time.