The slow ride through the encampment, with its streets flanked by brown and white tents, reminded Nathalie somewhat of an Indian encampment, and she gazed about with eager interest, as this was her first visit to an army post. The girls were specially interested in the prisoners,—two or three men here and there guarded by a soldier-boy,—who were acting as White Wings by gathering up flying papers, or débris of any kind lying about, while other groups were digging ditches or performing similar duties. “But see,” cried one of the girls, “the prisoners carry clubs, while the guard in the rear hasn’t any.” “No, but he carries an automatic pistol in his trousers’ pocket,” answered Mrs. Morrow quickly, who had visited the camp many times; “and if he should fire it, a crowd of soldiers would immediately surround the prisoners and disarm them. And then, too,” she added, “you must remember that these prisoners, as a rule, are not real jailbirds, but just young, thoughtless lads who have probably been punished for what we would consider a very slight misdemeanor.” But they were now in what Mrs. Morrow called the “chow” quarters, that is, where the mess-tents were. It was quite an interesting sight to see a long line of soldiers, with their plates, cups, and pans in their hands, standing waiting for the “eats” at one of these tents. The girls, alert-eyed, watched them with more than the usual curiosity, for when they were supplied with food they came straggling out of the line with their “chow” and sat down here and there in groups, while others sat down on the street-curb and began their meal, using their laps for a table. This elicited many exclamations of surprise, especially when their director told them that Uncle Sam’s soldiers were not allowed to sit at tables, but had to dine standing. Their denunciation of this system and their expressions of pity were loud, but when they were told that it was these very hardships to which a boy had to be inured that made him a well-trained soldier, they became somewhat reconciled to what they had seen. Just at this moment a sudden inspiration came to Nathalie, and, leaning forward, she whispered softly to Mrs. Morrow. That lady smiled and nodded approval evidently, and immediately brought the car to a standstill so that Nathalie and Helen could alight. Going swiftly towards a couple of boys who were sitting on the curb, their eyes bright and keen, and their faces tanned to a rich brown, Nathalie said, somewhat timidly, “I beg your pardon, but wouldn’t you young gentlemen—er—soldiers—” she hastily corrected herself laughingly, “like to have some cherries to eat with your dinner?” “Most assuredly we would,” responded one of the lads, a tall broad-shouldered chap with dark hair, from whose sun-tanned face two dark-lashed eyes looked down at her, with a half-smile in their blue. The boys had courteously risen and were standing at attention when the girl spoke.