“I am as well as possible, and, as you may imagine, frightfully busy since the Boches began their last big slugging at our lines. I can’t tell you where I am, but it is, I’m sorry to say, nowhere near Mother or Dad, so I haven’t seen either of them for a month. I hope you got my last letter telling the good news that I brought down my first German plane. I am a full-fledged pilot at last, and a first lieutenant, with some sweet little Nieuports of my own that can do wonders in the air. Cousin Henry watched me fly the other day. His work brought him near here last week, and he gave me news of Mother, which I was awfully glad to get. Transportation in these parts is pretty crowded just now and letters come through slowly. I shouldn’t be surprised if you heard from her oftener than I do. Cousin Henry, like the trump he is, is working for all he’s worth. Time and money are nothing for him to give where they will help, and I wish I could write you some of the fine things he has done. I didn’t see him long, for we are on pretty constant duty now, and most of my outlook lately consists of German trenches seen eight thousand feet below me, with shrapnel spouting up from them like fireworks. I float around among the clouds and keep out of reach, while my observer makes his maps or gets his little machine gun ready if the German taubes come buzzing too near.” “Out of reach,” Lucy murmured, with a quick frown. “Not if I know him!” and a worried wrinkle persisted on her forehead as she turned to the last page. “The Yanks are doing their good little bit on the battle line. I wish there were more of us, but we’re not to be despised. Fritz doesn’t seem to think so, anyway, from the bombing he gives our trenches whenever our Allies give him a little respite. Father’s regiment did a fine piece of work the other day near you know where. I can’t write more definitely now, but he, with a number of his officers, was recommended for decoration by the French divisional commander.” Lucy’s forehead cleared a little over this, and her serious eyes brightened as she read the words. Bob had only written a few lines more: “I know you like the Leslies. If they are Cousin Henry’s sort you couldn’t help it. Janet’s brother Arthur is not far from here, and I intend to meet him as soon as we can manage it. I saw him last when I was ten and he was about seventeen. I haven’t a second more to write, so good-bye. Love and best wishes from “Yours as ever, “BOB.” “Lucy!” called Janet’s soft voice outside the door, after half an hour had stolen by. “Aren’t you coming down to tea?” Lucy sat up and recalled her thoughts from where Bob’s letter had led them, and her eyes from the darkening fields and woods beyond the leaded panes.