“Vic!” she cried. “Look! Look at that girl! It is Annette!”
“My aunt! So it is!” cried Vic. “Jove! What a picture she makes! What a swing!”
Behind that swinging company of girls came the band, marching to the tapping of the drum only. Then after a space came a figure, pathetic, arresting, moving—a woman, obviously a workman's wife, of middle age, grey, workworn, and carrying a babe of a few months in her arms, marched alone. Plainly dressed, her grey head bare, she walked proudly erect but with evident signs of weariness. The appearance of that lone, weary, grey-haired woman and her helpless babe struck hard upon the heart with its poignant appeal, choking men's throats and bringing hot tears to women's eyes. Following that lonely figure came one who was apparently the officer in command of the column. As he came opposite the gate, his eye fell upon the group there. Swiftly he turned about, and, like a trumpet, his voice rang out in command:
“Ba-t-t-a-a-lion, halt!! R-r-r-i-g-h-t turn!”
Immediately the whole column came to a halt and faced toward the side of the street where stood the group within the shadow of the gate.
“I am going to get Annette,” said Patricia to her father, and she darted off, returning almost immediately with the leader of the girls' squad.
“What does this mean, Annette? What are you doing? It is a great lark!” cried Patricia.
“Well, it is not exactly a lark,” answered Annette, with a slight laugh. “You see, we girls want to help out the boys. We are strikers, too, you know. They asked us to take part in the parade, and here we are. But it's got away past being a lark,” she continued, her voice and face growing stern. “There is a lot of suffering among the workers. I know all my money has gone,” she added, after a moment, with a gay laugh.
Meantime, the officer commanding the column had spoken a few words to the leader of the band, and in response, to the surprise and dismay of the venerable Doctor, the band struck up that rollicking air associated with the time-honoured chorus, “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow.” Then all stood silent, gazing at the Doctor, who, much embarrassed, could only gaze back in return.
“Papa, dear,” said Adrien, who with Hugh Maynard had joined them at the gate, “you will have to speak to them.”