The girls were scarcely out of the station wagon with their sandwich trays slung over their shoulders, when they saw the smoke of the troop train far down the track. As if by magic people suddenly appeared from all directions to see the troops go through. The Canteen workers had to do considerable elbowing to keep close enough to the track to serve the men. They tried to spread out so their wares would be available to all the coaches. However Kit and Beth found themselves side by side as they tried to keep the curious crowd from pushing them onto the track. Suddenly Beth leaned close and whispered to Kitty, “Look to your left in a moment—that man’s been down here to see almost every troop train since I’ve been in Canteen work.” Kitty glanced at the hard-featured man whom Beth indicated. In his broad-brimmed hat and knee boots he looked like a western cowhand, while his face was like some granite rock rising out of the mesa. Then in the push she lost sight of him. She and Beth separated as the train pulled into the station. The boys already had their windows up, and were leaning out, waving at the crowd, calling greetings to the Canteen girls. Many of them had letters they wanted mailed. Eager hands reached down for the sandwiches and candy bars Kitty offered. They were not supposed to ask where the boys were going, but there was no law against asking where they had been. Kitty put that question to a sun-tanned chap, who thanked her so profusely for the sandwich and cigarettes. “South Pacific,” he replied. “Carolina’s home. It sure looks good to me.” “Wish you happy landing for a long furlough,” she said with a smile as she moved on down the line. Several handed her letters, which she put on the tray where the sandwiches had been. Suddenly through the din she heard someone call out, “Anybody round here ever heard of Terrapin Island?” Kitty glanced in amazement toward the end of the coach to see a sunburned soldier looking over the crowd as he asked the question. “Sure!” one man said. Another replied, “About twenty miles down the coast.” Most of them were low country people who were familiar with the name of Terrapin Island, even though few had been there. Kitty pushed her way closer to the window from which the questioner leaned. “Anybody know old Uncle Mose, a colored man who’s been living there all his life?” the soldier asked. Kitty could scarcely credit her hearing when he asked that. Was it possible he was the Tradd boy just returned from the Pacific? She was right under his window now. As she thrust her last sandwich into his hand she asked, “Are you—are you Charles Whitlaw Tradd?” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration: _Kitty Glanced at the Hard-Featured Man_] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The young man reached down and seized her hand eagerly. “Not Whit himself,” he said eagerly, “but his best buddy.”