Making no reply, she slowly walked out on the lawn, where the children stood waiting for her. After explaining her reasons for giving up the afternoon hike, she turned to hurry into the house, determined to get the disagreeable task over as soon as possible. Halfway up the steps she paused, her eyes lit up with an amused thought evidently, for, with a half-laugh, she turned and hurried back to the group standing with woe-begone faces, trying to think what they could do to ease their disappointment. A moment later they were crowding about her, listening eagerly as she talked, their faces keen and bright, as if with the inspiration of a novel appeal. Some time later, Nathalie, with a queer little smile dimpling the corners of her mouth, knocked softly on the screen-door leading into the little red house. As she heard a faint “Come in!” in answer, she gently pushed the door open and entered. In her hands she carried a bowl, while behind her, all cautiously tiptoeing, as if afraid of making the slightest sound, came four small figures, each one carefully holding something for the invalid, whom they found lying on a couch in the front room. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Carney,” said Nathalie, and then, in a distressed tone, “Oh, I’m afraid we have disturbed you, but Sam said you were not feeling well, and mother sent me over with the boys, to see if we could not help you in some way. We have brought you something, too, that may possibly make you feel better.” The girl was in the throes of despair, as no reply came from the recumbent figure, only the slow-moving of a big fan. O dear! she thought, perhaps her little ruse to relieve the awkwardness of a most curious situation was not going to succeed. But at this instant, Sheila came forward. Her sympathies had been aroused on learning about the curious old lady, and on finding that there was nothing for her to carry to the sick one, she had gone out to the roadside and gathered a big bunch of wild flowers, to her a panacea for every ill. These she now thrust towards the figure on the couch, crying, in her sweet childish treble, “I’m sorry, lady, you’re sick, but here’s some flowers; I picked ’em for you.” The child spoke in a half-frightened tone, somewhat at a loss to understand the silence beneath the handkerchief-covered face. Suddenly the handkerchief was withdrawn, and the old lady sat bolt upright, with a startled exclamation, gazing in amazed wonder at the four small figures, with their pleading eyes and offerings of sympathy, standing in a row before her. “Bless me!” she cried, a half smile dawning in her sharp eyes. “Where did these children come from?” “Oh—why—they’re my Liberty boys,” answered Nathalie quickly, with a sudden flash of relief that at last the old lady’s silence was broken. “Your Liberty boys?” she questioned with some bewilderment, as she peered keenly at the slim young figure. “But you’re too young to have these boys.”