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 Stick-at-nothings, the London newspapers have nicknamed the women's Reserve Ambulance Corps of 400 women who wear a khaki uniform with a green cross armlet. With white tunics over, these khaki suits, a detachment of green cross girls at Peel House, the soldiers' club in Westminster, does housemaid duty from seven in the morning until eight at night. They are making beds and waiting on table, these young women, who, many of them, in stately English homes have all their lives been served by butlers and footmen. I saw a Green Cross girl at the military headquarters of the corps in Piccadilly making to Commandant Mabel Beatty her report of another phase of war work. She was such a young thing, I should say perhaps eighteen, and delicately bred. I know I noticed the slender aristocratic hand that she lifted to her hat in salute to her superior officer: "I have," she said, "this morning burned three amputated arms, two legs and a section of a jaw bone. And I have carried my end of five heavy coffins to the dead wagon." That's all in her day's work. She's a hospital orderly. And it's one of the things an orderly is for, to dispose of the byproducts of a great war hospital.

See also, these ambulances that bring the wounded from Charing Cross. They are "manned" by a woman outside as well as the nurse within. There is a girl at the wheel in the driver's seat. The Motor Transport Section of the Green Cross Society accomplishes an average weekly mileage of 2,000 miles transporting wounded and munitions. Like