“You are my girls,” he said, “and wherever you go, I’ll tag along.”

Maurie drove straight into the city and to the north gate, Jones clanging the bell as they swept along.  Every vehicle gave them the right of way and now and then a cheer greeted the glittering new Red Cross ambulance, which bore above its radiator a tiny, fluttering American flag.

They were not stopped at the gate, for although strict orders had been issued to allow no one to leave Dunkirk, the officer in charge realized the sacred mission of the Americans and merely doffed his cap in salutation as the car flashed by.

The road to Furnes was fairly clear, but as they entered that town they found the streets cluttered with troops, military automobiles, supply wagons, artillery, ammunition trucks and bicycles.  The boy clanged his bell continuously and as if by magic the way opened before the Red Cross and cheers followed them on their way.

The eyes of the little Belgian were sparkling like jewels; his hands on the steering wheel were steady as a rock; he drove with skill and judgment.  Just now the road demanded skill, for a stream of refugees was coming toward them from Nieuport and a stream of military motors, bicycles and wagons, with now and then a horseman, flowed toward the front.  A mile or two beyond Furnes they came upon a wounded soldier, one leg bandaged and stained with blood while he hobbled along leaning upon the shoulder of a comrade whose left arm hung helpless.

Maurie drew up sharply and Beth sprang out and approached the soldiers.

“Get inside,” she said in French.

“No,” replied one, smiling; “we are doing nicely, thank you.  Hurry forward, for they need you there.”

“Who dressed your wounds?” she inquired.

“The Red Cross.  There are many there, hard at work; but more are needed.  Hurry forward, for some of our boys did not get off as lightly as we.”

She jumped into the ambulance and away it dashed, but progress became slower presently.  The road was broad and high; great hillocks of sand—­the Dunes—­lay between it and the ocean; on the other side the water from the opened dykes was already turning the fields into an inland sea.  In some places it lapped the edges of the embankment that formed the roadway.

Approaching Nieuport, they discovered the Dunes to be full of soldiers, who had dug pits behind the sandy hillocks for protection, and in them planted the dog-artillery and one or two large machine guns.  These were trained on the distant line of Germans, who were also entrenching themselves.  All along the edge of the village the big guns were in action and there was a constant interchange of shot and shell from both sides.

As Maurie dodged among the houses with the big car a shell descended some two hundred yards to the left of them, exploded with a crash and sent a shower of brick and splinters high into the air.  A little way farther on the ruins of a house completely blocked the street and they were obliged to turn back and seek another passage.  Thus partially skirting the town they at last left the houses behind them and approached the firing line, halting scarcely a quarter of a mile distant from the actual conflict.