“Les.” “I--I begin to understand,” gasped Miss Briggs. “She threw our belongings into the street, eh?” “Les.” “Oh, for a place where I could practice law for one little half hour,” raged J. Elfreda. “Why did she do that, Won?” questioned Grace Harlowe, though suspecting the truth. “Not know.” “Is she in there?” pointing to the cottage. “Les.” “Thank you, Won. It was very kind of you to watch our belongings. Don’t go away yet, I may need you.” Grace tried the door and found it barred. She called, but there was no answer. “This is provoking!” she exclaimed, now thoroughly exasperated. “What are you going to do?” asked Elfreda. “Wake up the house,” she replied shortly, stepping out into the street and feeling about on the ground. “I think this will do it,” she observed, returning to the sidewalk with a rock in one hand. It was a sizable rock, a big cobblestone, with which the street was paved, except for the holes that had been dug by German shells. “Hulloa the house!” shouted Grace. There was no response from within. Grace drew back the rock and banged it against the door, but still no response. Now began such a banging as awakened sleepers in the cellars all along the street, a banging that attracted the attention of M. P.’s (military police) and that split a board in the door itself. “Hulloa the house!” repeated the Overton girl. “What do you want?” demanded a calm voice from within, in a tone that convinced Grace Harlowe that its owner had not been asleep at all. “I wish to get into my billet, if you please.” “Then go to your billet,” suggested Mrs. Smythe. “These are our billets, Mrs. Smythe. If you wish to stay in them, you are welcome so far as we are concerned, but you will please open the door so we may come in.” “You are mistaken. These are not your billets; they are the headquarters of the welfare supervisor. You will be good enough to go away before it becomes necessary for me to call the police.” “Be so kind as to open the door!” demanded Grace evenly. “You threw our things into the street,” shouted Elfreda. Grace begged her to be quiet. “Will you go away?” demanded the supervisor, raising her voice. “Where shall we go? We have no place to sleep. You have thrown our kits out, and we are very cold. I ask you once more to let us in.” “That does not concern me, driver. I am not interested in your domestic affairs. Go away or I shall scream for the M. P.’s.” “Save your breath, they are coming now,” answered “Captain” Grace as she heard men running toward them from two directions, and a moment later half a dozen military police with drawn clubs came rushing on the scene. CHAPTER VIII HUNLAND IS REACHED AT LAST “What’s all this row about?” demanded a gruff voice, and a heavy hand was laid on Grace Harlowe’s shoulder. “Don’t get excited, Buddy,” answered Grace laughingly. “Woman!” he exclaimed. “Two of them,” added another M. P. “This needs investigation.” “Just a moment, please. I--”