“Oh, thank you!  Thank you!” said Winona, with shining eyes.

She lay awake for hours that night thinking of to-morrow’s expedition.  Her brain seemed turning round and round in a whirl.  To see Percy and assure herself that he was alive, and likely to recover!  Oh, it was worth traveling to the North Pole!  When at last she slept her dreams were a confusion of agonized escapes from Zeppelins, or rushing from trenches pursued by Germans.  She was glad to wake, even though it was much too early yet to get up.  The sun was only just rising behind the Minster towers.  Never mind!  It was morning, and to-day, actually to-day, she would see Percy!

By nine o’clock Miss Beach and Winona were speeding along in the express for Dunningham.  Here they changed, and began a slow and tiresome cross-country journey, with a couple of hours to wait at an uninteresting junction.

“We shall get back a little quicker than we came,” Aunt Harriet explained, “because we can take advantage of the boat express, which will save us an hour and a half.  It’s most wearisome to jog along in these local trains, stopping at every tiny little station.”

“One longs to be in the car,” said Winona.

“We might have gone in the car if it had been within reasonable distance.  We couldn’t possibly have motored to Prestwick and back in a day, though!  Trains may be hot and stuffy, but they get one over the ground.”

It was nearly two o’clock before they reached their destination.  They had just time for a hasty lunch at a restaurant, and then Aunt Harriet hailed a taxi and they drove to the hospital.  This was a large, fine house in the suburbs, given up by its patriotic owner to the use of the Red Cross.  As they turned in at the gate they could see an attractive garden, where groups of Tommies in their blue invalid uniforms were lounging in deck chairs, or lying full length on rugs spread upon the grass.  An orderly showed them to the office, where Miss Beach had a brief interview with the Commandant, and they were then escorted by a V.A.D. nurse to the Queen Mary Ward.

Winona had not been in a hospital before, so all was new to her—­the large airy room with its polished floor and wide-open windows, the rows of beds, each with its little cupboard by the side, the table full of flowers in the center, the nurses in their neat Red Cross uniforms.  She had no time, however, for more than a hurried glance round; her eyes were busy searching for the one particular bed that was the object of their journey.

“Private Woodward is in Number eleven,” said the V.A.D., motioning them to the right-hand side of the room.

Percy lay on his back with a cradle over his injured leg.  His face was very white and thin, and greatly changed.  The old boyish expression had vanished, there were firm lines round the mouth and a resolute look in the eyes, which had not been there before.  A few months in the trenches, and a baptism of fire, had transformed the careless, happy-go-lucky lad into a man.  Tears glistened in Winona’s eyes as she bent down to kiss him.  It was hard to see her active brother lying helpless and suffering.