"I feel queer when I remember how many of our own men are prisoners in Germany," declared Winifrede.
"Quietly, girls! And don't stare!" said Miss Norton. "We ought to pity these poor men. It is a terrible thing to be a prisoner of war."
"I don't pity them," grumbled Marjorie fiercely under her breath. "Perhaps they're the very ones who've been fighting Leonard's regiment."
"Yes, when one thinks of one's brothers, it doesn't make one love the Germans," whispered Winifrede.
"Love them!" flared Marjorie. "I wouldn't consciously speak to a German for ten thousand pounds, and if I happened by mistake to shake hands with one—well, I'd have to go and disinfect my hand afterwards!"
"Miss Norton's welcome to them if she pities them," said Betty from behind.
"Go on, girls, now!" came the teacher's voice, as the contingent tramped away into the camp.
"I'm disgusted with Miss Norton!" groused Marjorie. "Come along, Chrissie! What's the matter with you, old sport? Anybody'd think you'd seen a ghost instead of a batch of Germans. Why, you've gone quite pale!"
"I'm only tired," snapped Chrissie rather crossly. "You're always making remarks about something. I'm going to walk with Patricia."
"Oh, all right! Just as you please. I don't press myself on anybody. I'll walk with Winifrede again if she'll have me."