"We haven't a great deal of food, I know," Sonya began impulsively. "But don't you think, Dr. Raymond, we might ask the friends who have come to welcome us and who seem hungriest to share our food? A great quantity of supplies are to follow us and we will probably wait for a few days somewhere along the line of march. Dr. Clark told me he wanted us to be prepared to care for the wounded American soldiers we meet along the way, soldiers who have been imprisoned in Germany and must have suffered untold tortures from improper treatment. Then, if any of our own soldiers are taken ill along the route of march, Dr. Clark is to see they are left in a comfortable hospital with the necessary supplies and it may be we shall be delayed to look after them." Forgetting her effort to enter the little house, Sonya at this instant moved away from Dr. Raymond to rejoin the other Red Cross nurses. In French fashion some of the old peasants were kissing the hands of their allies. Miss Blackstone and a physician had already unwound a dirty bandage from the arm of an American soldier and were examining his wound. Sonya had no desire to be left out of the little crowd of French and American friends. Within fifteen minutes, however, she had again returned to the little house. This time she was accompanied by an old French peasant woman to whom she had explained the situation, inquiring if the farmhouse was in truth uninhabited. At present it was the French woman who hammered, not gently but with the utmost firmness upon the closed door. "It may not be possible, madame, that we enter in at the front door," she explained. "It is my impression that la petite Louisa has never once unfastened this door since she opened it to the German soldiers who afterwards took away her mother and older sister. She has been here ever since all alone, as her father and brother were of course with the army. La petite Louisa has since that time been distrait, not you understand exactly in her right senses, but harmless. It is not that her French neighbors have neglected her. I have myself tried to take her home to be with me, but always she comes back to the little grey house." The old peasant shrugged her shoulders, as she continued banging on the door and talking at the same time. "There have been so many things to endure. One more forsaken, half starved child! What would you do? Her family was not well known in our village; they had moved here from Paris a short time before the war and were said to have been wealthy people who had fallen into misfortune. So after a time, it may not seem kind, but life has been too hard some of the days even for kindness, so finally we left the little girl alone. Neighbors have given her food when there was food to give. Even a few of the enemy soldiers have sometimes tried to make friends and persuade her to eat, but always she would rush away from them with the great fear."