TAM O' THE SCOOTS
"Gracious—isn't it high! I wonder if it's a German—they're bombing hospitals—it's British, silly—no, it's a German, I saw one just like that over Poperinghe—it's coming right over."
"Stand by your cars, ladies, please."
The tall "chief's" sharp voice scattered the groups.
"He's dropping something—it's a bomb—no, it's a message bag. Look at the streamers!"
A bag it was and when they raced to the field in which it fell they discovered that it was improvised, roughly sewn and weighted with sand.
The superintendent read the label and frowned.
"‘To the Driver of Ambulance B. T. 9743, 131st General Hospital'—this is evidently for you, Miss Laramore."
"For me, Mrs. Crane?"
Vera Laramore came forward, a picture of astonishment and took the bag.
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