"
I then rang for Hannah, and ofered her to dollars to bring
Jane a tray at noon and to sneak it from the kitchin, not the
pantrey.
"From the kitchin?" she said. "Miss Bab, it's as much as my
life is worth to go to the kitchin. The cook and that new Butler
are fighting something awfull."
Jane and I exchanged glances.
"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.
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