IT WAS in Holland, the great War had been going on about three months. Numbers of refugees had been pouring over the frontiers; they had come over in all kinds of ways, some swimming across the streams, some rolling over in barrels; many and numerous were the devices used by these fear stricken people to reach Holland, which was to them at that time a place of heavenly rest and refuge.

Even at this early stage of the war there were groups of men and women—members of the Society of Friends—banded together to help where help was so much needed, and it was with one of these little groups that I was attached.

Our headquarters were in Rotterdam at this time and our work was hardly yet organized, for we had only recently come together and did not yet know exactly what our plan of action was to be. All the same, terrible things were happening and we were being called from one place to another.

And now all Holland was disturbed, for news had come through that the Germans were marching on Antwerp and nothing seemed to stop them. As they marched on the inhabitants of Antwerp began their great exodus for Holland. Can it be imagined? A great city pouring forth all its population, rich and poor; cultured and uncultured, leaving their homes and taking with them all their possessions. The poor man of the gutter, the owner of the palace, side by side. Some with their great families, others with their pets—cats—dogs—birds—and in many instances children with guinea pigs held tightly in their hands; all with one intent—fleeing from would-be captors, the Germans, to the friendly soil of Holland. And as they reached that land and found themselves in safety over the border, many a one knelt down on their knees and gave thanks to their God in their own way.

It was at this time that some of us were called upon to do that which seemed so needed, rescue those who had fallen.

The Dutch Red Cross and the Dutch Army, all mobilized, ready for action, did all the necessary work of feeding and