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you,” she had written, “strong girls, courageous girls, girls who can tend to soldiers without any romantic nonsense.” And Pauline had felt a stirring inside her. “Yes, I can be useful, woman though I am! Even because of the kind of woman I am—a woman not like other women. But how not like other women—what kind of woman am I? Will I meet other women like me, who can tell me what kind of woman I am? Or will it be a woman unlike myself, who will show me what kind of woman I can be?”
    As if in answer to her thoughts, the crowd suddenly parted to reveal a tall, handsome woman, the kind of woman, Pauline suddenly realized, that she had always wanted to meet, without even knowing that such a woman existed. Her severely handsome face, under a cap of close-cropped graying hair, was made even more attractive by her air of decision and authority. Pauline caught her breath as she saw that the woman wore the uniform and insignia of the Englishwomen’s Volunteer Ambulance Corps, with braid on her arm that marked her as a captain.
    â€œSoon I’ll have a uniform like that!” thought Pauline rapturously. She had always wanted a uniform. Timidly, she addressed the dazzling figure. “I—I’m Pauline Peel,” she said.
    The older woman smiled, and her craggy face gleamed with warmth. “Yes, Miss Peel, I’ve been expecting you.” Her eyes traveled over the gangly young girl before her. “What is your age, Miss Peel?” she asked.
    â€œI’m nineteen,” said Pauline, all at once terribly conscious of her youth and inexperience. A pained expression flitted across the woman’s face. “So young . . . so young,” she murmured. Then her mood changed abruptly, and she said crisply, “I’m Miss Barnard. I’ll be your field commander. Follow me, please.”
    Pauline hurried after Miss Barnard, who threaded her way swiftly through the crowd. She followed her down a dim passageway, across a street, and then they were among the baggage cars. “Have you got Emma, Joe?” cried Miss Barnard. “Yes, miss, right and tight,” called back a wizened little man. Then to Pauline’s great shock, she saw not another recruit like herself, but a beautiful chestnut hunter, tail clubbed and mane braided, clip-clopping down the baggage ramp. The weary look seemed to vanish from Miss Barnard’s face as she stroked the splendid animal’s forelock, and crooned to her, “Don’t worry, Emma, we won’t be separated anymore.”
    The rest of the day was a whirl of activity, as Pauline was outfitted for her uniform and instructed in the use of her gas mask. She was introduced to her fellow recruits, a very merry bunch. Pauline, who wasn’t much used to the company of other girls, was surprised to find this group so congenial until one of them explained, “Did your governess recommend you too? We all came specially recommended by our governesses. My governess and Miss Barnard were at school together.” “Why so was mine!” “Mine too!” chimed in the other girls. “High command gave Miss Barnard her pick of the volunteers after she got the Croix de Guerre,” one girl remarked knowingly.
    Pauline especially liked her new roommate, Valerie Burne-Jones, a lively girl with black hair and snapping black eyes, whose accent and way of exclaiming “ Nom de dieu! ” were explained by the fact that she was half-French. She told Pauline many interesting things about their commander. Miss Barnard had been at the front for more than a year and had won several medals for bravery, when the shelling of a field hospital had resulted in the death of a particular protegee of hers. After that, Miss Barnard had returned to England. “Pneumonia, they say, but I hear other things,” confided Valerie, pointing to her head. “I hear it was, how you say, the shell shock.” There was some talk