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So they slept in amity. But they waited with some anxiety for the morrow.

It was a cold morning, a grey sky shifting in a cold wind, and threatening rain. They watched the wagon come up the road and through the gates. Miss Stokes was with her team as usual: her “Whoa!” rang out like a war-whoop.

She faced up at the truck where the two men stood.

“Joe?” she called, to the averted figure which stood up in the wind.

“What?” He turned unwillingly.

She made a queer movement, lifting her head slightly in a sipping, half-inviting, half-commanding gesture. And Joe was crouching already to jump off the truck to obey her, when Albert put his hand on his shoulder.

“Half a minute, boy! Where are you off? Work’s work, and nuts is nuts. You stop here.”

Joe slowly straightened himself.

“Joe?” came the woman’s clear call from below.

“Again Joe looked at her. But Albert’s hand was on his shoulder, detaining him. He stood half-averted, with his tail between his legs.

“Take your hand off him, you” said Miss Stokes.

“Yes, Major,” retorted Albert satirically.

She stood and watched.

“Joe!” Her voice rang out for the third time.

Joe turned and looked at her, and a slow, jeering smile gathered on his face.

“Monkey-nuts!” he replied, in a tone mocking her call.

She turned white—dead white. The men thought she would fall. Albert began yelling to the porters up the line to come and help with the load. He could yell like any non-commisioned officer upon occasion.

Some way or other the wagon was unloaded, the girl was gone. Joe and his corporal looked at one another and smiled slowly. But they had a weight on their minds, they were afraid.

They were reassured, however, when they found that Miss Stokes came no more with the hay. As far as they were concerned, she had vanished into oblivion. And Joe felt more relieved even than he had felt when he heard the firing cease, after the news that the armistice was signed.