gotten out of the auto a little way down the road so that Mary Lee, who had been his playmate and friend, could see him walk up the road, no longer crippled but like other boys. Bob had stayed over for a few days. Mr. and Mrs. Cameron had been greatly pleased with Mary Lee. They were surprised at the way she had grown and admired the tanned cheeks and the clear eyes.

Bobbie was to come out again at the end of July and a few days later Ruth and Edith and Letty were to come. And while all of them were at the farm, Aunt Madge and Dr. Anderson would drive out.

As Mary Lee came tripping down the road, some of the joy in her was for the days to come. She was not only thinking of the coming of her friends but also of September when she would join these friends in the city and be as one of them. A spirit of gratefulness mingled with her other emotions as she thought of the rapid changes that had taken place in the short time she had been out of the orphanage.

"Some day," she said very softly, "I am going to make my friends very proud that they are my friends." It never occurred to this simple, lovely little girl, that she had already given them cause for their pride in the mutual friendship.

"When Bob and the girls come we can visit the Sanitarium. If we can only get Dr. Anderson to go with us he can explain things to us and in that way we can learn so much more. Then, too, we can have real campfires and meetings and Bobbie can visit us as a Boy Scout."

So her mind planned it all, as she hastened along. There was no need for hurrying, but it was never in the nature of this girl to move slowly. But often she stopped along the road for there were many things that drew her interest.

"You poor things," she said to some dry and withered looking ferns along the way. "I shall practice being a real Red Cross Girl with you." She hurried into the woods somewhat farther down the road and from a brooklet brought some water with which to give the ferns new life.

This act set her to dreaming of her future when she would be a Red Cross Nurse and of Dr. Anderson who was to give her the opportunity to gain the necessary experience. It was great work to relieve and cure the sick.

Then across her line of vision came a blurred form which she could not make out. She hurried forward. As she neared it she saw the body of a man lying prone upon the ground.

For one moment there was a scared, helpless feeling within the girl. There was a great sinking in her heart. She seemed very small, very helpless. Then from somewhere within her a small voice whispered:

"Mary Lee, you are a Red Cross Girl."

CHAPTER V
Mary Lee Writes a Letter

Mary Lee could never remember how she managed to place the unconscious form of the man against the tree so that the branches would afford some shade and protection from the sun's merciless heat.

From the gate at which she was standing and from where she was searching the road for Mary Lee's return, Mrs. Quinn saw the girl running. She noticed her excitement and so hurried forward to meet her.

"What is it, dear? What has happened?" she questioned anxiously.

Mary Lee told her. From the account, Mrs. Quinn judged that the man had had an attack of sunstroke. She calmed the excited girl and immediately went about obtaining the necessary ice to use on the stricken man.

The girl found good use for a first aid book which had been presented to her at one of the Campfire meetings. From it she learned that mustard on the nape of the neck or the forehead would help to bring a person back to consciousness. She immediately went into the kitchen and procured some.

Mr. Quinn was not about and so the two, Mrs. Quinn with the ice and Mary Lee with the mustard, hurried to the unconscious man, first sending Tom after Mr. Quinn to bring the carriage to them.

They found him still unconscious. Mary Lee applied the ice and then put a plentiful supply of the mustard upon the nape of the man's neck. Then both watched anxiously for signs of a return to consciousness. It seemed hours before there was a flicker of returning life; as a matter of fact, it was less than ten minutes. When Mr. Quinn arrived with the carriage the man had regained consciousness, but he was obviously quite weak.

"I think we had better take him to the Sanitarium," said Mary Lee, "they will know what to do there."

Mrs. Quinn agreed. She returned home, her husband driving toward the Sanitarium, Mary Lee on the rear seat holding the man's head and applying the ice. The drive was over two miles and during almost all of that time, the sick man was either too weak to speak or lacked the inclination to do so.

As they turned into the driveway which led to the hospital, he spoke in a low, weak voice: "I'm sorry to give you all this trouble, young lady. It is a misfortune for me as well as for all of you." Then he paused for a second either through weakness or as if debating something in his mind.

"I wonder if I can impose on your goodness a little more?" he asked as the carriage stopped at the entrance and Mr. Quinn went inside to speak to the proper authorities. "Could you come and see me in the morning? I must have something attended to tomorrow and I suppose," he continued wanly and with the ghost of a smile, "I shall have to stay here at least that long."

"I shall be glad to come," answered Mary Lee. "Please do not worry. I am sure that it will be but a day or two before you are up and about again."

An interne and two orderlies now came out of the hospital door with a stretcher. They carried the sick man into the emergency ward but would not allow either Mr. Quinn or Mary Lee to follow. They were told that they would probably be allowed to visit in the morning.

But the man's case was evidently quite serious. Mary Lee called the next day and was informed that the patient had a high temperature and that it was impossible to permit any visitors. She was not allowed to see him until the fourth day. It worried her because of her promise and the man's evident anxiety to have the "something" attended to at once. On the fourth day, she was informed that the man was still weak but had insisted on seeing her. The nurse who spoke to her warned her not to stay too long.

Even as she opened the door she felt the surcharged eagerness of the man. He wasted no time in any greetings.

"The doctor tells me I cannot hope to leave here for at least another week. He claims it is under-nourishment more than the heat." He rested a moment.

"My name is Tom Marshall," he continued slowly. "I was on my way home from Mexico where I have been for many years. About two months ago, I remember the day so well, the home of my mother and father and of my early youth seemed to be calling to me in a way I could not resist. I had been away from it for over fifteen years and not once before that time had I been homesick or felt the desire to go home. But the new feeling was such that a little boy feels—I wanted my mother more than anything else in the world.

"My partner and I have a mine down there. We think it is a silver mine, but so far it has been hard to pinch anything out of it and we have found it a difficult matter even to exist. My partner is an Indian but he would shame many white men. I have never known a squarer, whiter man. He found the mine. We both feel it is certain to make good some day.

"Enough of that, except to say that I went to him and told him how I felt. He insisted that I make the trip home. Together, we