They left in a run in one direction while Kelsey, who had come to the ambulance for supplies, went another way.  Mr. Merrick looked around for the other two girls.  Only Maud Stanton was visible through the smoky haze.  Uncle John approached her just as a shell dropped into the sand not fifty feet away.  It did not explode but plowed a deep furrow and sent a shower of sand in every direction.

Maud had just finished dressing a bullet wound in the arm of a young soldier who smiled as he watched her.  Then, as she finished the work, he bowed low, muttered his thanks, and catching up his gun rushed back into the fray.  It was a flesh wound and until it grew more painful he could still fight.

“Where are the Germans?” asked Uncle John.  “I haven’t seen one yet.”

As he spoke a great cheer rose from a thousand throats.  The line before them wavered an instant and then rushed forward and disappeared in the smoke of battle.

“Is it a charge, do you think?” asked Maud, as they stood peering into the haze.

“I—­I don’t know,” he stammered.  “This is so—­so bewildering—­that it all seems like a dream.  Where’s Beth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you looking for a young lady—­a nurse?” asked a voice beside them.  “She’s over yonder,” he swung one arm toward the distant sand dunes.  The other was in a sling.  “She has just given me first aid and sent me to the rear—­God bless her!” Then he trailed on, a British Tommy Atkins, while with one accord Maud and Uncle John moved in the direction he had indicated.

“She mustn’t be so reckless,” said Beth’s uncle, nervously.  “It’s bad enough back here, but every step nearer the firing line doubles the danger.”

“I do not agree with you, sir,” answered Maud quietly.  “A man was killed not two paces from me, a little while ago.”

He shuddered and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, but made no reply.  They climbed another line of dunes and in the hollow beyond came upon several fallen soldiers, one of whom was moaning with pain.  Maud ran to kneel beside him and in a twinkling had her hypodermic needle in his arm.

“Bear it bravely,” she said in French.  “The pain will stop in a few minutes and then I’ll come and look after you.”

He nodded gratefully, still moaning, and she hurried to rejoin Mr. Merrick.

“Beth must be in the next hollow,” said Uncle John as she overtook him, and his voice betrayed his nervous tension.  “I do wish you girls would not be so reckless.”

Yes; they found her in the next hollow, where several men were grouped about her.  She was dressing the shattered hand of a soldier, while two or three others were patiently awaiting her services.  Just beside her a sweet-faced Sister of Mercy was bending over a dying man, comforting him with her prayers.  Over the ridge of sand could be heard the “ping” of small arms mingled with the hoarse roar of machine guns.  Another great shout—­long and enthusiastic—­was borne to their ears.