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 andwagons，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 hobbleda 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 embankmentb that formed the roadway.
Approaching Nieuport，they discovered the Dunes to befull 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 lineof 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 splintersa high into the air.A little way farther on the ruins of a house completely blocked the street and they were obliged to turnback 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.
As far as the eye could reach，from Nieuport to the seaat the left，and on toward Ypres at the right of them，the line of Belgians，French and British steadily faced the foe.Close to where they halted the ambulance stood a detachmentb that had lately retired from the line，their places having been taken by reserves.One of the officers told Mr.Merrick that they had been facing bullets since daybreak and the men seemed almost exhausted.Their faces were blackened by dust and powder and their uniforms torn and disordered；many stood without caps or coats despite the chill in the air.And yet these fellows were laughing together and chatting as pleasantly as children just released from school.Even those who had wounds made lightof their hurts.Clouds of smoke hovereda low in the air；thefiring was incessantb.
Our girls were thrilled by this spectacle as they had never been thrilled before—perhaps never might be again.While they still kept their seats，Maurie started with a sudden jerk，made a sharp turn and ran the ambulance across a ridge of solid earth that seemed to be the only one of such character amongst all that waste of sand.It brought them somewhat closer to the line but their driver drew up behind a great dune that afforded them considerable protection.
Fifty yards away was another ambulance with its wheels buried to the hubs in the loose sand.Red Cross nurses and men wearing the emblem on their arms and caps were passing here and there，assisting the injured with "first aid，"temporarily bandaging heads，arms and legs or carrying to the rear upon a stretcher a more seriously injured man.Most of this corps were French；a few were English；some were Belgian.Our friends were the only Americans on the field.
Uncle John's face was very grave as he alighted in the wake of his girls，who paid no attention to the fighting but at once ran to assist some of the wounded who came staggering toward the ambulance，some even creeping painfully on hands and knees.In all Mr.Merrick's conceptions of the important mission they had undertaken，nothing like the nature of this desperate conflict had even dawned upon him.He had knownthat the Red Cross was respected by all belligerentsa，and that knowledge had led him to feel that his girls would be fairly safe；but never had he counted on spent bullets，stray shells or the mad rush of a charge.
"Very good！"cried Maurie briskly."Here we see what noone else can see.The Red Cross is a fine passport to the grand stand of war.""Come with me—quick！"shouted Ajo，his voice soundingshrill through the dinb."I saw a fellow knocked out—there—over yonder！"As he spoke he grabbed a stretcher and ran forward，Maurie following at his heels.Uncle John saw the smoke swallow them up，saw Beth and Maud each busy with lint，plasters and bandages，saw Patsy supporting a tall，grizzled warrior who came limping toward the car.Then he turned and saw Doctor Gys，crouching low against the protecting sand，his disfigured face working convulsively and every limb trembling as with an ague.
