"Oh, poor little thing,—she's still ill, then?" asked warm-hearted Julia, ready to make allowances.
"Yes, I don't know just how much," said Lucy doubtfully.
"Well, listen to me a minute, Lucy." Julia took her friend's arm and drew her down on the steps of the Gordon house. "What I really came to ask you about was this." Her voice dropped a little. "Have you heard your father say anything about the Twenty-Eighth sailing for France this week, or that those drills they keep at every second of the day are their last on this side? Of course your father would know, when he has charge of the supplies,—and I'm sure it's so," ended Julia, her eyes bright and earnest.
"Oh, Julia, you know how Father is about secrets,—especially lately. I wouldn't know one thing if everybody on the post were leaving to-night," said Lucy, her lips wavering to a smile, though her face was thoughtful. "How I wish I knew, though," she added, looking off toward the moving lines of men, dust-brown against the green. "Where did you hear it, anyway?"
"I didn't hear it, I just guessed it, because the Infantry officers are so queer and silent now, when you ask them questions. Mr. Alling was at our house last night, and he would hardly speak of the latest Infantry orders, and when they don't know what to expect themselves they talk and surmise, about it as much as anybody. Besides, they are working so terribly hard,—in the regiment, I mean, not among the recruits. And hasn't your father been rushed to death, lately, without giving any particular reason?"
Lucy was silent, pondering, her father's tired face before her eyes. "I don't know, Julia," she said at last. "I wish we did. I'll ask Father to tell me,—wouldn't any secret be safe with us? But he won't."
Julia got up, staring over the parade with frowning brows. The mysterious secrecy of these first sailings of American troops for the far-off battle front, lest the watchful submarines learn more accurate news of their coming than they already picked up by unknown means, was to the eager, loyal children of the post a very thrilling problem of uncertainty. Twice already had a regiment, newly arrived at the island for an uncertain stay, slipped away in the darkness or the dawn to its transports, and each time, thanks to the silent tongues and the battle-ships waiting to convoy them, they had reached the other side in safety. And now was the home regiment to follow?
"I suppose we might just as well stop racking our brains," Julia said at last, putting aside her perplexed thoughts with her usual impulsiveness. "Come to the Red Cross to-morrow morning, Lucy? We can do that much, anyhow."