A thin, emaciated figure lay in the corner on a pile of dirt over which a cloak had been spread. The sunken eyes fixed themselves on the two boys, but there was no recognition in their glassy depths. What looked like two little piles of rags were huddled close, and as the boys came nearer, the dying woman, for it was a woman and she was close to death, clutched them convulsively. The bundles stirred, and a couple of small heads were raised. Two children, tousled and covered with dirt, lifted frightened eyes and clung frantically to the prostrate figure. Porky crossed swiftly and dropped on his knees by the dying woman. Very gently he slipped an arm under her heavy head and lifted her a little on his strong young arm. “Get a move on!” he flung at Beany, and that young man scrambled up the pile of debris where the big stone had fallen and instantly disappeared. Porky, left alone with the woman and the two terrified children, who tried frantically to burrow out of sight under the mother’s nerveless arm, could think of nothing better to do than clasp the woman closely to him in an effort to give her some of his own heat and vitality. She seemed already stone cold. Almost at once Beany returned with some of the officers. They came down and with tender hands lifted the sufferer out of the chilly dampness of the cellar, and laid her on a pile of coats and cushions. Some one carefully fed her a few drops of the hot coffee still left in the thermos bottles. It was very evident, however, that her moments were numbered. One of the French officers in the party knelt beside her. Softly, tenderly, pityingly, he spoke to her in her native tongue. The weary eyes opened, and rested on his face. CHAPTER III A VEXING PROBLEM