"I'll make some oatmeal cookies for you, Lucy," offered Julia. "I love to make them."
"Will you? Thanks!" said Lucy, rubbing her red cheek with a wool-gloved hand. "Suppose we go back now, before Marian gets frozen stiff and can't be moved."
"I'm nearly that already," remarked Marian, stamping her feet. "We must have been out an hour by now, Lucy."
"Oh, yes, almost. The wind will be behind us going this way, so you won't mind it," Lucy called back, leading the single file along the sea-wall.
Once back from the exposed point of the island the wind died down, and as the girls left the sea-wall for the grass and neared the Infantry quarters on Brick Row, skirting the aviation field, Marian raised her chin from where it was snuggled down into her neck, and straightened her shoulders a little.
"Phew! What a cold place!" she breathed.
"Bob said in the letter we got yesterday," said Lucy, glancing toward the aviation sheds, "that it was cold there, too, though the weather had been good otherwise. He said the poor French people were awfully hard up for clothes. That's what made me wish to see if we can't get more things done for them."
"You don't know just where he is, do you, Lucy?" asked Julia.
"No, though Father thinks he can figure it out pretty well. He's not far from the base headquarters of our army."