“Ah doan keer whar we goes tu from yere, jes’ so’s we git somewhar’s whar de sun shines lak hit do now fo’ a little while. Ah suttenly doan lak dis puddle bizness what we has mos’ de time sense Ah ben in dis yere France. Hit sure am some wet country. Now dis day ain’ so bad, so Ah’ll jes’ tap wood--” and he rapped himself on the head. The round trip completed, Don and Wash at the base hospital, re-stocked their car for any emergency. They started out on a new road, coming up with the tail end of the marines in their big camions--passing them, one by one. The way led east, then south and east again, passing first through the town of Senlis, then around the little city of Meaux, then away on a splendid road toward Rheims. Before reaching the objective beyond the town of LaFerté, the road crossed the beautiful Marne, called a river, though Don regarded it merely a big creek, as it would be called in America. Oh and ever on, rumbled the camions, the yellow lorries with the marines, and Don expected again to catch sight of Clem Stapley. However, it was not these fighting men that most interested him, for on this Rheims road the boy saw for the first time what he would probably never see again--refugees, fleeing from the German army. It was a sight never to be forgotten--one to wring pity out of the most stony-hearted, to sober the most waggish, to sadden the gentler-minded as hardly even death, or the suffering of the wounded could do. Driven from their homes, fearing the wrath of the invader, expecting only to return and find all their property destroyed, except the little they could carry away, given over to pillage, or the flames. They trudged along, embittered by injustice, powerless to protest, stolid or weeping, but all of one mind. They sought only a place of safety from the Huns. They were mostly afoot; many old men, the younger and middle-aged women and the stronger boys and girls were the beasts of burden, carrying or drawing great loads in makeshift carts, or light wagons, the more fortunate having horse or cow, or perhaps donkey or dog, harnessed to help. On these loads rode the smaller children and the very aged. Even the soldiers, singing and laughing as they went on to battle, some of them to death or lifelong suffering, and as gay as if nothing but a picnic lay before them, ceased their music and raillery, when they saw the first of these refugees. The French medical officer at the evacuation hospital near LaFerté spoke enough English to make himself understood by the American Red Cross ambulance drivers, half a dozen of whom had reported to duty before Don arrived on the scene. These fellows greeted him exuberantly and all stood in a row ready to receive orders.