"That's true," corroborated Scotch, "and once in his room at the hospital he showed me a sable helmet. Scarlet cloth and gold braid, and the hussar fur all over it. It's a beauty. I wish he'd give it to me."
"How did he get it?" asked Mrs. Bracher.
"He shot an officer in the skirmish at Zele."
"He must have been a busy man with his rifle," commented Mrs. Bracher.
"He was. He was," said Hilda. "Why, he's shot fifty-one men, since the war began."
"Does he keep notches on his rifle?" queried Mrs. Bracher.
"I think it's a privilege to have a man as brave as he is going out with us," replied Hilda. "We must bore him frightfully."
"He's peaceful enough now, isn't he," observed Mrs. Bracher, "trotting around with a Red Cross Ambulance Corps. I should think he'd miss the old days."
Hilda and Mrs. Bracher were having an early morning stroll.