CHAPTER XI
THE RETURN
Before daylight Sally rose softly and began to dress, feeling extremely irritated. She disliked getting up in the mornings and this scheme of arising early was so annoying that it had kept her awake the greater part of the night.
Besides she had but little hope of not arousing Alice. Once as she was searching quietly on the floor for her shoes, Alice sat up, asking severely:
“What on earth are you doing, Sally Ashton? If you are not ill, come on back to bed. If you are ill, come back in any case and let me get whatever it is you desire.”
Sally murmured something vague and indeterminate about endeavoring to discover a lost pillow and Alice fell comfortably asleep again, nor did she awaken when Sally at last slipped out of the room and down stairs.
In case any one else heard her or called, she had made up her mind to explain that she was seeing about some preparation for breakfast. As “housekeeper extraordinary” this statement might be believed, even if it were unlike her to start her ministrations so early.
But no one was disturbed and Sally got her little bundle of provisions together quickly, since she knew just where the supplies of food were kept. They had not a great deal, considering the demands that were constantly being made upon them by the people in the neighborhood who were less well off, so Sally felt that she had not the right to be over-generous, and made her selections with due discretion.
It was more than ever her determination to demand that the soldier leave the château at once this morning, if he could be induced to see the wisdom of such a proceeding, but if not by nightfall.
Also Sally had made up her mind to ask no questions. If the soldier were arrested later she wished to know as little as possible concerning him.
He had spoken of being captured and of running away from his captors. This suggested that he was a German or an Austrian who had been taken prisoner and was trying to effect an escape. If this were true Sally felt a fierce condemnation of her own cowardly attitude. But was it not remotely possible that the soldier had committed some offense and had then run away from his own regiment? However, this point of view was but little in his favor. As he spoke English with an accent and as foreign accents were all of an equal mystification to Sally, it was possible that she need never know his origin.
Outdoors and slipping through the garden, to Sally’s surprise and consternation she nearly ran into old Jean, who appeared to have been up all night caring for his stock.
He looked like a gnome with his wrinkled skin, his little eyes, his muddy gray hair and even his clothes almost of a color with the earth.
He was carrying a lantern, but instead of speaking beckoned mysteriously to Sally to follow him out to Miss Patricia’s barn, where a half dozen cows were now installed.
Not knowing what else to do, Sally stood by until she found herself presented with a small pail of milk, and still with no comments, for immediately after Jean went on with his morning’s work.
She did not waste time, however, in puzzling over the old servant man.
After drinking a small quantity of the milk, not wishing to throw the rest away or to return to the house, Sally concluded to take it with her as a part of her offering. Yet she had no real desire to give refreshment to her accidental acquaintance.
Some curious feminine force must have moved Sally Ashton on this occasion. Most women find it difficult to allow a human being to endure physical suffering, once the person is delivered into their care.
As she made her way to the château for the second time Sally loathed the cold dark morning and there was no beauty nor significance to her in the gray leaden sky which lay like a mourning veil over the sad French landscape.
Sally considered that she was engaged in an almost unjustifiable action. Yet she could not make up her mind to leave the soldier to starve, or to betray his presence in the château.
Moreover, Sally was haunted by a small nervous fear, which may have been out of place in the face of the larger issues which were involved. As the soldier in hiding had no reason to believe she would arrive so early in the morning, he might still be asleep. Sally disliked the idea that thus she might be called upon to awaken him. The conventions of life were dear to her, she had a real appreciation of their value and place in social life and no desire to break with any one of them.
The food could be left in the dismantled old drawing-room, under its arch of leaning walls, but Sally wished to leave a command as well as the food. After this one unhappy pilgrimage she would do nothing more for the soldier’s safety and comfort. He must take his chances and slip away.
The entire neighborhood was disturbingly quiet. An owl of late habits would have been almost companionable. Upon one point Sally considered herself inflexible. She would not enter the château; she might call softly from the outside if it were necessary. If no one replied she would return to the farm and nevermore would the château be honored by her presence.
In an entirely different state of mind she approached the old house on this second occasion and made her way to the opening between the walls.
Inside there seemed an even more uncanny silence. Yet how could one call to an utter stranger whose name, whose identity, whose nationality were all unknown?
“Halloo!” Sally cried in a faint voice, not once but three or four times.
There was no reply.
She called again. Then she entered the drawing-room quickly with no other idea than to put down her offerings and flee away as soon as possible. Sally was possessed of the impression that, however long the wrecked walls might remain in position while she was outside them, once inside she would be buried beneath a descending mass.
A few feet within the arch she discovered her soldier.
He had made for himself a bed out of an old mattress which he had dragged from some other room, using a torn covering which once had been a beautiful eiderdown quilt. As he had no pillow and his face was completely uncovered, Sally realized he was in a stupor and so ill that he had not heard her approach or her repeated calls.
Fortunately Sally Ashton was essentially practical.
Moreover, in an extraordinary fashion for so young and presumably selfish a girl she immediately forgot herself. She was living in an atmosphere of unselfishness and devotion to others, so the thought that the object of her present care was not a worthy object did not at the moment influence her.
In a matter-of-fact and skillful fashion Sally first poured a small amount of milk inside her patient’s parted lips. Except that the soldier became half aroused by her act and seemed to wish more, there was no difficulty. Then unwrapping the arm which she had bandaged the day before, she cleansed the wound a second time with the antiseptic she had brought for the purpose.
Afterwards, realizing that she must find the water she had been told was still to be had in one of the rooms of the château, without considering her previous fears, Sally climbed and crawled through one dangerous opening after the other, in spite of her awkwardness in any unaccustomed physical exertion. Finally she discovered the water. Then in a half broken pitcher, secured in passing through one of the wrecked bedrooms, she carried a small amount to the drawing-room.
Without hesitation or embarrassment the girl bathed her undesired patient’s face and hands. He had fine, strong features; there was nothing in the face to suggest weakness or cowardice. Still it remained impossible to decide his nationality or whether he was an officer or merely a common soldier, since his outfit was a patchwork of oddly assorted garments.
Sally’s acquaintance with uniforms was limited. She knew that the French wore the horizon blue and the British and Americans a nearly similar shade of khaki.
Her patient’s outfit was like no other she had seen.
Yet over these minor details she did not trouble. In spite of her lack of experience, Sally was convinced that the soldier was now suffering from blood poison due to neglect of his wound and the unhealthy and unsanitary conditions in which he had been living.
The day before she had thought he looked and acted strangely and had half an idea that he may have been partly delirious then, so she was not altogether surprised by the present situation.
During her journey across the fields daylight had come; because she would not otherwise have been able to accomplish her present task even so inadequately as she had accomplished it, Sally was pleased.
Yet when the moment arrived and she had done all she could for the soldier’s comfort she had to face her real difficulty.
There is no mistake in this world more serious than to judge other people’s problems in the light in which they appear to us. The problem which is nothing to one human being appears insurmountable to another.
So with Sally Ashton’s present difficulty.
She had made up her mind to tell the soldier that unless he left the château before the following day she would be compelled to tell her friends of his hiding place and ask advice. But she had meant to warn him of her intention and allow him to take his chances if he preferred.
Now he appeared defenceless and entirely at her mercy.
Should she betray him at once? Certainly there was a possibility that he would die of neglect if left alone at the château. But then he must have faced this possibility and deliberately chosen it.
Sally wondered what would become of an escaped prisoner if he were discovered to be desperately ill? It did not seem possible that the military authorities would be so severe as he had anticipated.
Yet she knew very little of the ways of military authorities, and an escaped prisoner would scarcely be an object of devoted attention.
Although not aware of the fact, already Sally had assumed a protective attitude toward the soldier.
One thing she might do and that was to wait another twenty-four hours. It was barely possible that he might not be so ill as she now believed.
At present she must not remain a moment longer at the château. Instead she must run back across the fields, since it was her plan to reach the farm house and be discovered in the act of assisting Mère ’Toinette in the preparation of breakfast.
CHAPTER XII
OTHER DAYS AND OTHER WAYS
Under the new conditions of life in the devastated country of France, it has been difficult to set down the effect which the change of environment, the change of interest and of inspiration had upon each individual member of the Sunrise Camp Fire unit.
Certainly their present daily life bore but a faint resemblance to their former outdoor summer encampments in various picturesque places in the United States. Nevertheless the Camp Fire girls always had considered that they were doing useful work merely by following the rules of their camp fire and by gaining the honors necessary to the growth of their organization and their own official rank.
Now they realized that all their efforts had been but a preparation for the service they were at present undertaking. There was no detail of their past experience which was not of service, their Health Craft, Camp Craft, Home Craft, Business and Patriotism. Why, their very watch cry, “Wohelo”–work, health and love–embodied the three gifts they were trying to restore to the poverty-stricken French people in this particular neighborhood upon “the field of honor!”
On this afternoon, in spite of the cold, the girls had arranged to hold their first out-of-doors Camp Fire meeting since their arrival in France.
For weeks they had been working among the young French girls in the villages and the country near at hand, persuading them to spend whatever leisure they had in studying the Camp Fire ideas and activities.
Bettina Graham and Alice Ashton had introduced as much Camp Fire study as possible into the regular routine of the school which they held daily in the big schoolroom at the farm. Even with the younger children there were like suggestions of play and of service which Marta Clark and Yvonne were able to give.
But until this afternoon there had been no actual organization of the first group of Camp Fire girls in France. Strange that with Camp Fires in England, Australia, Africa, Japan, China and other foreign places, there should have been none in France! But Yvonne Fleury could have explained that, unlike American girls, French girls were not accustomed to intimate association with one another, their lives up to the time of their marriage being spent in seclusion among the members of their own family.
Indeed, upon this same afternoon Yvonne was thinking of this as she dressed slowly before going outdoors to join the other girls. The house was empty save that Mère ’Toinette was working downstairs.
Marta Clark and Peggy had been kind enough to make her a simple Camp Fire costume, the khaki skirt and blouse, which formed their ordinary service costume. Notwithstanding she had been studying the Camp Fire manual and trying to acquire the necessary honors, this was the first time Yvonne had worn the costume.
How utterly unlike anything she had ever dreamed were these past weeks in her life! From the moment of her confession of weakness and the telling of her story to Mrs. Burton, Yvonne had deliberately chosen to remain with her rather than continue with the canteen work which she had originally planned to do in returning to her own country.
For one reason she had fallen under the spell of Mrs. Burton’s sympathy and charm; moreover, the girls in the Camp Fire work were nearer her own age and were to undertake a character of occupation in which she felt herself able to be useful. They were also going to live in the neighborhood of her old home before the outbreak of the war.
As a matter of fact, although Yvonne had preferred not to confide the information to any one except Mrs. Burton, she was at present not fifty miles from the château in France where she had lived until the night word came that she and her family must fly before the oncoming horde of the enemy.
Well, more than three years had passed since that night, three years which sometimes seemed an eternity to Yvonne. She had no wish to revisit the ruins of her old home, no wish to be reminded of it. There was no one left for whom she cared except perhaps a few neighbors.
However, in the last few weeks Yvonne ordinarily did not permit herself to become depressed. This much she felt she owed to Mrs. Burton’s kindness and to the comradeship which had been so generously given to her by the Camp Fire girls. Yvonne felt a particular affection for each one of them. She could not of course feel equally attracted. So far she cared most for Peggy Webster and for Mary Gilchrist, possibly attracted toward Mary because she also was an outsider like herself. Then Mary’s boyish attitude toward life, her utter freedom even from the knowledge of the conventions in which Yvonne had been so carefully reared, at first startled, then amused the young French girl. But for Peggy Webster, Yvonne had a peculiar feeling of love and admiration. This may have been partly due to the fact that Peggy was Mrs. Burton’s niece and so shared in the glamor of the great lady’s personality, but it was more a tribute to Peggy’s own character.
After Yvonne’s pathetic account of her history, Mrs. Burton had told at least a measure of her story to Peggy. She had asked Peggy to invoke the compassion and aid of the other girls and to do what she could for Yvonne herself.
To Peggy’s strength, to the freedom and the courage of her outlook upon life, Yvonne’s tragic story had appealed strongly, but more Yvonne’s timidity. Often the young French girl appeared unwilling to go on with the daily struggle of life when everything for which she had ever cared had been taken from her.
Among the American Camp Fire girls there was only one girl for whom Yvonne felt a sensation of distrust which almost amounted to a dislike, and this was Sally Ashton. Nevertheless, in the early days of their acquaintance, Yvonne had not this point of view. Then she had admired Sally’s prettiness, the gold brown of her hair and eyes, her white skin and even her indolent manners and graces. Yet recently Yvonne had become aware of a circumstance, or rather of a series of circumstances, which had first surprised, then puzzled and finally repelled her.
In a few moments Yvonne left the farm house. If she were late at their first outdoor camp fire she realized she would have no difficulty in discovering the site they had selected, although it was at some distance away.
Some time had passed since the arrival of the Camp Fire party in this neighborhood of France and now even in the winter fields there was a suggestion of approaching spring.
As Yvonne walked on she felt an unselfish joy, a greater lightness of heart. Surely the spring would bring back some of her lost happiness to France. There would be another great drive, another tragic contest of strength, but the British and French lines would hold.
Yvonne had the great faith and courage of her people, now she had learned to lay aside her personal sorrow.
In a few more weeks Miss Patricia’s American tractor, which was indeed a “strange god in a machine,” would be able to turn these fields into plowed land ready for the spring planting.
But now in a meadow, while still some distance away, Yvonne beheld an American, a French and a British flag set up on temporary staffs, and blending their colors and designs in a symbolic fashion as they floated in the wind.
Yvonne paused for a moment to watch the group of her acquaintances and friends.
Standing apart from the girls were Miss Patricia Lord, Mrs. Burton, and the two visitors who had arrived only a few days before. They were the guests whose approaching visit to the farm house Miss Patricia had so openly deplored, one of them Mrs. Bishop and the other Monsieur Duval, both of them ship acquaintances. Mrs. Bishop was in France to represent an American magazine and was at present intending to write a series of articles on the reclamation work along the Aisne and the Marne.
Monsieur Duval had given no explanation for his appearance save to announce that he had some especial work on hand for his government in the southern districts of France.
In spite of the fact that fuel was of such tremendous value in France at the present time, the Camp Fire girls had permitted themselves the extravagance of a fire to inaugurate their first outdoor Camp Fire ceremony. The boxes in which Miss Patricia’s various purchases had come to the farm had proved useful for more than one service.
In a circle near the camp fire were eight young French girls who this afternoon were to receive the wood-gatherers’ rings. Just beyond them the American girls were seated.
Peggy had been chosen to present the rings.
Possibly they were waiting for Yvonne’s arrival, for no sooner had she slipped silently into her place than Peggy Webster arose and recited the Wood-gatherer’s Desire.
“As fagots are brought from the forest,
Firmly held by the sinews which bind them,
I will cleave to my Camp Fire sisters
Wherever, whenever I find them.
“I will strive to grow strong like the pine tree,
To be pure in my deepest desire;
To be true to the truth that is in me
And follow the Law of the Fire.”
Then she offered each one of the French girls a silver ring. When she came to Yvonne, clasping the Fire Maker’s bracelet about her wrist, she whispered:
“We feel, Yvonne, that you have a right to a higher order in our new Camp Fire group than the other members because of the help you have given us in whatever work we have attempted since our arrival in France. In fact, you are the leading French Camp Fire girl!”
A moment later, in answer to a signal, Mrs. Burton walked over and stood just beyond the two circles of girls and the camp fire and close to the Allied flags.
“There is not much I feel able to say to you,” she began, speaking in a simple and friendly fashion. “I think perhaps you are already beginning to understand how intensely the people of the United States desire to render to France a part of the debt we owe her. It is France who has saved our liberty and the liberty of the entire world.
“Now I hope that the first group of Camp Fire girls in France will later carry the flaming torch until the news of the Camp Fire movement has spread through all the French land. In the Camp Fire life we look for the romance, the beauty and the adventure which may be hidden in the smallest task. More important than these things I hope Camp Fire girls the world over may become a part of the new spirit everywhere growing up among women, the spirit of union, the ability to work and play together as men have in the past. For once all girls and women are united, there will be a new league for peace among the nations such as this world has never known.”