It was the young Lord Applegate. “Pile into the car, all of you.” His tone was sharp, commanding. “This is going to be bad. A dozen Jerry bombers circling around looking for targets, and the moon making everything bright as day. Your broad roof shows up all too clearly.” Dashing to the corner of the room, Dave seized two buckets of water to drench the fire. They were to recall this act later, with thanksgiving. In an incredibly short time they were all crowded into the big car and away. Through the back window of the racing car Alice caught a fleeting glimpse of her home, the only home she had ever known. Standing there in the cool, shadowy moonlight, with great trees banked behind it, the old house seemed a thing of indescribable beauty. Yet the word that came to the girl’s mind was “lonely”. For a space of seconds it seemed to her that she must leap from the car and race back to be with the dear old house in its great time of trial. This was but a fleeting fancy. A turn in the road shut the place from her view. She heard the young Lord saying: “I’ve fixed up an air raid shelter in the dungeon of the castle. It’s thirty steps down, walled over with massive rocks. Even had an oil heater installed. We’ll be safe and comfortable there.” “Safe and comfortable,” Alice thought angrily. “In an insane, upside down world such as this, who wanted to be comfortable and safe?” This too she realized was a wrong slant on life. “Comfort and safety,” she assured herself, “are two of the great necessities of life. For, on the morrow, there is work to be done.” At that she did not know the half of it. Warmington Castle, a great, square mass of masonry, looming a hundred feet above the meadows, greeted them as they took one more curve in the road. A minute more and there they were. With the droning of heavy motors still in their ears, they hurried down one narrow stairs, then another, to find themselves in a rather large windowless room where candles blinked at them from every corner and an oil stove glowed warmly up at them. Lady Applegate, a frail, nervous little lady, greeted them with jittery handshakes and an uncertain smile. Her husband had died from wounds received in that other war. And now this! “Poor soul,” thought Alice. As if to guard her from bombs, the Lady’s servants, butler, cook, and two maids, sat clustered about her. Dave was not long in the dungeon. Having wished to witness an air-raid he took the thing by the bit and hurried back up the stairs. Flash, the collie, it would seem, was of the same mind. He followed him out. As if in search of fresh targets, just any roof gleaming up from the moonlit night, giant planes were still circling. Dave strained his eyes for a glimpse of them. “That’s the plague of it,” he grumbled. “If you could see them you could blast them from the sky even at night.”