Nathalie’s cheeks took on a deeper pink, and then she turned, and the two girls walked back to the car with the boys in their wake. But unfortunately, as she attempted to lift one of the heavy baskets over the edge of the car, something jarred her elbow, and the next moment the basket had fallen to the ground with the cherries rolling all over the road. There was a loud shout from the boys, and then a dozen or more khaki-clad figures had rushed to the girl’s assistance, and presently soldier-boys and girls were all scrambling about in the dust of the road, gathering up the fruit. Indeed, by the time it was replaced in the basket,—for, of course, the girls had to polish off the dust from the luscious red fruit—they had all become very merry with one another. Several minutes later, as the car whirled around the corner of the long street, they saw the soldier lads gathered about the basket, while laughing and joking with one another in good-natured banter. Suddenly one of the boys looked up, and as he spied the now disappearing car he took off his cap and waved it in a parting salute. Nathalie smiled back, for she recognized this good-by as coming from the boy with the dark-lashed, blue eyes. “Wasn’t that young solider a handsome boy?” queried one of the girls admiringly, as the car flew along the level road. “And what lovely blue eyes he had.” “Yes, and that boy with the light hair was nice-looking, too,” chimed in Helen. “He had such a frank way of looking you right in the eye. I’ll warrant you he’s no coward.” But the cherries and the boys in the “chow” quarters were forgotten as the girls drove by a group of buglers, who were sitting on the grass near a large tent, practicing on their bugles. Every eye was curiously watchful as the three cars went slowly past, for Mrs. Morrow, who was driving, had slowed up as she saw “the camp alarm-clocks,” as she called them. Every head was bent forward and eyes grew big with alertness, for had the girls not set out that morning with the avowed intention of not missing anything worth seeing, and surely a group of soldier buglers was an interesting feature of the camp. They were a merry-eyed crowd, those boys with their happy, care-free faces under the brown hats with their gay-colored cords. All on undress parade, Helen declared, as she noted their brown flannel blouses and belts, as they knelt or stood upon the grass, blowing on their golden horns as Captain Molly called their brass instruments. Evidently they were not worrying about going overseas, or losing their lives in No Man’s Land, but were good examples of live-wire American lads, with the grit inherited from their ancestors, the Yanks, inspiring them to make good when called by Uncle Sam to the job of making war.