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Two “nurses,’ aged 3, come next and after them two veterans carrying a stretcher. Forming the rear guard are a whole troop little girls. Alongside of the parade marched the “delegate” in a white blouse, decorated only by his red cross arm band. He carried the cash box.

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“Salud, your honor the director, they shouted in chorus as they marched into the office raising their left fists.

“We are now twenty one in all,” they told me, “fourteen boys and seven girls.”

“What regiment are you attached to?” I asked them when I saw how seriously they were taking the parts they were playing.

“Mangada” one tot declared with great dignity.

“No, not Mangada. They don’t accept women,” a little girl interrupted, “ We are attached to the Largo Caballero bat- talion!”

“Yes. . . no. . . To the Passionaria regiment. That is the best of all,” a chorus of little girls shouted.

They are all very happy because they have really become use- ful. They obviously had something special to say to the di- rector. Something they had discussed before hand, judging from the eager look on their faces as they listened to their spokesman.

“V/Ve wish to make an official visit to the wounded,” he an- nounced.

“Of course, my friend,” answered the director, “excuse me for a moment, while I make the necessary arrangements.”

I utilized the time to ask them a few questions.

“Which of you have fathers at the front?”

“I have, I have,” a little boy shouted, proud of the glory which he could display.

“My uncle is at the front.”

“—And my brother.”

It was clear that all of them wished to participate in the honor of having relatives at the front.

The director called us.

“Go on up, but you must remain silent,” he warned them.

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