Gretel saw Madame’s expression, even though she did not hear her words, and a shadow crept into her brown eyes. She was very fond of Fräulein, who, for more than a year now, had been the only person to whom she could talk freely of her father’s memory, and of her happy childhood, which had been spent in the big, shabby studio, among his German friends. Indeed, Fräulein was the only German she knew, for since she had gone to live with her American relatives, she had quite lost trace of all her father’s friends. Her brother and his wife were very good to her, and she loved them dearly, but those old memories were very tender ones, and so when, a year and a half ago, she had come to Miss Minton’s, a rather shy, quiet little girl of thirteen, it was not strange that her heart should have gone out to the sentimental little German teacher, who talked to her in her father’s language, and seemed to understand her as few people had done. Those were the early days of the war, when many Americans still tried to be neutral, and Gretel’s family had made no objections, when, in the holidays, she had asked to invite Fräulein to their home. She had even gone to tea with Fräulein, at her aunt’s apartment. But as the months passed, things changed; feeling against Germany grew stronger, and on her last visit Gretel had heard remarks made by Fräulein’s aunt, that had brought the hot, indignant blood into her cheeks. Still, she had remained faithful in her affection for her friend, arguing that, after all, if people were Germans it was natural they should refuse to believe evil of their country. She tried to picture herself in Fräulein’s place, a stranger in a strange land, and she felt sure that whatever people had said against America, she should still have loved her country, and been loyal to her. And now America was actually at war with Germany, and things would necessarily grow more difficult. Gretel’s face was very grave and troubled when, some fifteen minutes later, they all rose from the supper table, and filed out of the dining-room. Her first thought was to go to Fräulein, and try to comfort her. It was Good Friday, and there would be no more lessons till the following Tuesday. The girls had the evening to themselves, and could do what they chose till bedtime. As soon as they had left the dining-room Amy began to cry again, and Angel Thayer, too, who was her room-mate, and best friend, slipped an arm about her tenderly. “Don’t cry, Amy,” she soothed. “Perhaps the war will be over before your brother gets there. Miss Minton says most of the boys will have to be trained in this country before they are sent overseas.” “I only wish I had a brother to go,” proclaimed Ada Godfrey. “I would be proud to give him to my country.” “You wouldn’t if he were the only brother you had in the world,” objected Amy, with a sob. “It’s all very well to talk when you haven’t any brothers, and your father’s dead. There isn’t a soul in your family to go.”