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No one would have known that Patricia West Norris had anything to worry over, and if there was any difference it was only that she was more inspiring. “I am a soldier’s wife,” she said to Betty, as one day they clambered out over the rocks and sat viewing restless waters, floating clouds and flying gulls. “If he can go as cheerfully as they all are going, to face the guns, I certainly will have to live up to him. I shall want to be by myself a little, of course, to think and to write letters, but you girls are helping me very much, and I am not going to mourn till something happens, and I am hoping that nothing will. I shan’t pretend that it is easy, though.”

Betty stroked her hand and they sat silently a little while. Betty had her own reasons for sober thoughts at times, but kept a bright face.

“See, Mrs. Patty (which was Betty’s name for her), there is smoke coming from that little house over the cave, and somebody is out in a boat fishing. We were always going to investigate that place.”