“Hannah,” I said, in a low tone, “I can only say this. If you but do your part you may avert a great calamaty.”
“My God, Miss Bab!” she cried. “That cook’s a German. I said so from the beginning.”
“Not the cook, Hannah.”
We were all silent. It was a terrable moment.
I shortly afterwards left the house, leaving Jane to study flag signals, or wig-waging as vulgarly called, and to watch.
Camp, 4 P. M. Father has just been here.
We were trying to load one of Betty’s uncle’s guns when my Orderley reported a car coming at a furious gate. On going to the opening of the tent I saw that it was our car with father and Jane inside. They did not stop in the road, but turned and came into the field, bumping awfully.
Father leaped out and exclaimed:
“Well!”
He then folded his arms and looked around.