At one time criticism was excited by the sight of Lady Dorothy Fielding, the twenty-year-old daughter of the Earl of Denbigh, standing among a group of admiring French and Belgian officers at the front. It was assumed that a girl of such an age and such training could only be a hindrance among the fighting men, and it was even hinted that she was addicted to flirting. Whatever she may have been at first, the young Lady Dorothy has now changed all opinions of her and become a real heroine. With training and experience now lasting for months she has become a most valuable as well as courageous nurse in rescuing and caring for the wounded. Naturally a strong girl and accustomed to athletic sports, she has shown herself peculiarly fitted for this kind of work. Many ladies of rank interested in the wounded have lately shown their good sense by not trying to go to the fighting area. The handsome and skittish Duchess of Westminster, who excited some attention at first by bustling around among the soldiers in France has now gone to Serbia, where there is the greatest need of Good Samaritans. The hospital founded by her at Le Touquet, near Paris, has done good work. The condition of Serbia is such that any women who ventures there must see the extremes of human misery. The whole country has been turned into a charnel house by the invading Austrians, followed by the still more terrible typhus fever. Men, women and children are dying of disease without being able to find a bed to lie on or a roof to cover them. One report stated that young Lady Paget had died while nursing typhus patients in Serbia. Her mother is the well-known American Lady Paget, wife of General Sir Arthur Paget, and the daughter is married to a distant cousin, named Sir Richard Paget, British Minister to Serbia. Later news came that young Lady Paget had not died of the fever, but she is passing through scenes of horror that have not been known in Europe for three centuries. IV--STORY OF A NEW YORK MOTHER WHO SOUGHT HER SON IN THE TRENCHES Paul Planet was sailing away from New York and from the mother he adored to fight under the colors of France. Other women--mothers, wives, sisters, sweethearts--pressed forward. They also gazed tearfully after the slowly receding steamer. The girlish figure with the great brown eyes and firm, resolute mouth, stood motionless. "Paul," she murmured. "He is my only child--my boy!" Weeks passed--months. Paul Planet's regiment was at the front. He had learned what it means to look death in the face, to live in the trenches, to see the horrors and devastation of war. He had fought and fought bravely, and experienced no regrets save one--that he must be separated from his mother. "We have always been more like chums than mother and son," he confided to his comrades. "Since my earliest recollection until now we have never been separated."