The Camp Fire Girls on the Field of Honor

Sally had gone a few yards from the château when she glanced back an instant toward the old stone ruins. The atmosphere of the afternoon had changed, the sun was no longer shining and the château lay deep in shadow.

A cold wind was blowing across the desolate fields. Sally was not ordinarily impressionable, yet at this moment she felt a curious sense of foreboding.

CHAPTER X

BREAKERS AHEAD

A little tired and also because her attention was occupied with her recent experience, Sally did not choose her way over the rough countryside so carefully and therefore managed to take a much longer time for her return to the farm.

Now that the sun had disappeared, the countryside seemed to have grown depressingly desolate. In the gray afternoon light the blackened tree trunks which had been partly burned were stark and ugly.

Under ordinary circumstances Sally was particularly susceptible to physical discomfort, yet this afternoon she was too concerned over her problem to be more than vaguely disturbed by her surroundings.

One thought continually assailed her. Would it be possible to appear among the other girls looking and behaving as if nothing unusual had occurred? For Sally had an honest and profound conviction that she had no talent for deception. How could she realize that she belonged to the type of women with whom dissimulation is a fine art once the exigencies of a situation required it? She had come to one definite conclusion, she would not betray the presence of the runaway soldier in the château for at least another twenty-four hours. She would take him food the next day and he might have the opportunity to attempt an escape. In all probability he would soon be captured and punished, and this was doubtless the fate he deserved; nevertheless Sally was glad that, in a cowardly fashion, she would not be directly responsible.

She looked forward to the evening and the next day with no joy, bitterly regretting that she had not spent her leisure hours in resting and reading as she had at first intended. Surely repose and a contented spirit were more to be desired than unexpected adventures!

Weary and dispirited, Sally finally arrived at home, only to be met in the front hall by Miss Patricia, who at once showed signs of an approaching storm.

As a matter of fact, she was excessively annoyed over a piece of information she had just received, so it was unfortunate that Sally should return at a moment when she must bear the brunt of it.

Moving a little listlessly up the broad uncarpeted stairs toward the bedroom she shared with her sister, the girl scarcely noticed the older woman’s presence. She was hoping that Alice had not yet returned and that she might have a few moments to herself.

Miss Patricia opened the attack with her usual vigor.

“What do you mean, Sally, by going off this afternoon, knowing that I particularly needed your help? You must understand that it is highly improper for a young girl to tramp about over this French country alone. Even if Polly Burton has permitted you Camp Fire girls the most extraordinary amount of freedom, she surely has realized this and warned you against such indiscretion. There is no way of guessing into what difficulty you may have already managed to entangle yourself!”

Sally felt herself flushing until her clear skin was suffused with glowing color.

“I am sorry, Miss Patricia,” she said, “but remember that I am not a child and cannot have you speak to me as if I were a disobedient one. I have been for a walk and – ”

But fortunately Sally was not required to complete her sentence. Suddenly Mrs. Burton had appeared out of her bedroom and began to hurry downstairs.

“Sally!” she called with a suggestion of appeal in her voice. “The excitement over your disappearance is my fault, so please don’t you and Aunt Patricia quarrel. A little while ago when I returned home and Mère ’Toinette told me that you had gone out alone and she did not know in what direction, why, I became uneasy. You will not again, will you? Really I am afraid it is not safe for you children, although with me of course the case is different. Aunt Patricia is not disposed to think so, forgetting my advanced age. Still, Sally, no matter how enthusiastic we may feel over our work here in the shell-torn area of France, we must remember these are war times when one never knows what may happen next. Besides, the French do not always understand our American ideas of liberty for young girls.”

By this time having reached the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Burton slipped her hand inside Sally’s, glancing back with a slightly amused and slightly apologetic expression toward Miss Patricia.

“Really, Aunt Patricia, I do regret your being so annoyed, yet you must not take my news too seriously. Our guests are sure not to remain with us long.”

To the latter part of her Camp Fire guardian’s remark Sally Ashton paid not the slightest heed, so concerned was she with the first part of her speech.

Why of all times should this question of her personal liberty come up for discussion this afternoon? Of her own free choice Sally felt convinced that she would never willingly go out alone. Nevertheless, how was she to keep her word to the young soldier unless she returned next day to the château? with the food she had promised him and without confiding the fact to any one else? Oh, why had she allowed herself to be drawn into this reckless promise? At this moment if she could only slip into her Camp Fire guardian’s room and ask her advice! Miss Patricia would insist that if the soldier were a deserter he straightway should be brought to justice. But Sally understood her Camp Fire guardian well enough to appreciate that, once hearing the soldier in hiding was ill and wounded, she would be as reluctant as Sally herself to follow her manifest duty.

Confidence on this particular subject was for the present out of the question, and as soon as she conveniently could Sally disappeared inside her own room. Later, when the other girls had returned, weary from their long errand of mercy in the next village and yet immensely interested in their experience, Sally pretended to have a slight headache.

During supper she scarcely listened to the ever steady stream of conversation which flowed unceasingly each evening. In the daytime the American newcomers to the old French farm on the Aisne were too much engaged to allow opportunity for conversation. After supper they gathered in their improvised sitting-room to talk until their early bedtime.

The sitting-room was oddly furnished with whatever furniture could be rescued after the commandeering of the more valuable possessions by the Germans.

In the attic a few broken chairs stored away for years had been brought down and repaired. These were beautiful pieces of furniture in conspicuous contrast to the couches and stools which originally had arrived at the farm as large wooden boxes containing provisions.

With old Jean’s assistance, Peggy and Vera had developed unexpected talents as carpenters.

Moreover, whatever her faults, Miss Patricia Lord was an unfailing source of supply. During her brief stay in Paris, without mentioning the fact to any one else, she had purchased thirty yards of old blue and rose cretonne, perhaps with the knowledge that beauty even of the simplest kind helps one to happiness and accomplishment.

Therefore the two couches in the sitting-room were covered with the cretonne, and half a dozen box chairs; and there were cretonne valances at the windows.

Save a single old lamp which had been left in the sitting-room, it had no other ornaments.

The lamp was of bronze and bore the figure of a genie holding the stand, so that obviously it had been christened “Aladdin’s lamp.” It was supposed to gratify whatever wish one expressed, but the Camp Fire girls were too busy with the interests of other people at present to spend much time in considering their personal desires.

There was one other object of interest in the room, a large photograph of the ruined Rheims Cathedral, which Mrs. Burton had bought in the neighborhood of Rheims not long before. The classic French city was not many miles from the present home of the group of American girls.

As beautiful almost in destruction as it had been in its former glory, the photograph stood as a symbol of the imperishable beauty of French art. Also it represented another symbol. Here on the white wooden mantel of the French farm house “on the field of honor” it called to the American people to continue their work for the relief and the restoration of France.

Tonight as she lay resting upon one of the couches, dressed in a simple dinner dress of some soft violet material, Mrs. Burton had glanced several times toward the photograph.

As a tribute to her headache and a general disinclination to associate with her companions, Sally had been permitted to occupy the other couch which stood on the opposite side of the room.

In their one large chair, close to the table with the lamp, Aunt Patricia sat knitting with her usual vigor and determination. Aside from Sally, the Camp Fire girls were grouped about near her.

After having been quiet for the past half hour, Mrs. Burton suddenly asked: “Would any of you care to hear a poem concerning the destruction of the Cathedral at Rheims, written by a Kentucky woman? A friend sent it to me and it was so exquisite I have lately memorized it. In the last few moments while I have been looking at our photograph I have repeated the lines to myself. I wonder if it would interest you?”

The girls replied in a chorus of acquiescence, but Mrs. Burton did not venture to begin until she also had received a nod of agreement from Aunt Patricia. Between the older and younger woman there was a bond of strong affection. Nevertheless, mingled with Mrs. Burton’s love and respect, there was also a certain humorous appreciation.

Since their arrival in France the Camp Fire girls had been compelled to spend their evenings in doors. This was unlike their former custom.

Recently, when they had grown weary of talking, perhaps for only a half hour before bedtime, some one of them had fallen into the habit of reading aloud to the others.

Apart from the pleasure, Mrs. Burton regarded this as useful education.

Not a great many newspapers and magazines reached the old farm house in comparison with other days at camp; nevertheless they arrived in sufficient number both from the United States and Paris to keep one fairly in touch with world movements. The reading of the French papers and magazines was of course especially good practice.

Yet, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Burton could seldom be persuaded to be anything save a listener. After reading or talking the greater part of the day to her new French friends, she was apt to be worn out by evening.

Tonight she began to speak in a low voice as if she were tired, yet as her little audience was so near it did not matter and her voice never failed in its beautiful quality.

“Rheims“It was a people’s church–stout, plain folk they,Wanting their own cathedral, not the king’sNor prelate’s, nor great noble’s. On the walls,On porch and arch and doorway–see, the saintsHave the plain people’s faces. That sweet VirginWas young Marie, who lived around the corner,And whom the sculptor knew. From time to timeHe saw her at her work, or with her babe,So gay, so dainty, smiling at the child.That sturdy Peter–Peter of the keys–He was old Jean, the Breton fisherman,Who, somehow, made his way here from the coastAnd lived here many years, yet kept withalThe look of the great sea and his great nets.And John there, the beloved, was Etienne,And good St. James was François–brothers they,And had a small, clean bakeshop, where they soldBread, cakes and little pies. Well, so it went!These were not Italy’s saints, nor yet the gods,Majestic, calm, unmoved, of ancient Greece.No, they were only townsfolk, common people,And graced a common church–that stood and stoodThrough war and fire and pestilence, through ravageOf time and kings and conquerors, till at lastThe century dawned which promised common menThe things they long had hoped for!                    O the timeShowed a fair face, was daughter of great Demos,Flamboyant, bore a light, laughed loud and free,And feared not any man–until–until–There sprang a mailed figure from a throne,Gorgeous, imperial, glowing–a monstrosityMagnificent as death and as death terrible.It walked these aisles and saw the humble ones,Peter the fisherman, James and John, the shopkeepers,And Mary, sweet, gay, innocent and poor.Loud did it laugh and long. ‘These peaceful folk!What place have they in my great armed world?’Then with its thunderbolts of fire it droveThese saints from out their places–breaking roof,Wall, window, portal–and the great grave archSmoked with the awful funeral smoke of doom.“Thus died they and their church–but from the wreckOf fire and smoke and broken wood and stoneThere rose a figure greater far than they–Their Lord, who dwells within no house of hands;Whose beauty hath no need of any form!Out from the fire He passed, and round Him wentMarie and Jean and Etienne and Francois,And they went singing, singing, through their France–And Italy–and England–and the world!”

When Mrs. Burton began her recitation she sat up on the edge of her couch and leaning forward kept her eyes fastened sometimes on the floor, sometimes on the picture of the great cathedral. Now and then her gaze quickly swept the faces of her audience.

She was wondering if the poem had bored any one of them. It was a long poem and perhaps its spiritual meaning would not be altogether plain.

However, as the poem reached its conclusion, and her voice with its dramatic power and sweetness made the picture of the peasant people and their peasant church a visible and compelling thing, she no longer felt fearful.

The faces of the girls before her were fine and serious; Bettina and Marta, who cared more for poetry and art than the others, had flushed and their eyes were filled with tears.

As Mrs. Burton finished, it was as if one could actually hear the new spirit of brotherhood which Christ preached two thousand years ago, “singing, singing, through the world.”

Yet in the silence which was a fitting tribute to the poem, suddenly the entire audience broke into a ripple of laughter. From the far side of the room a gentle snore had been Sally Ashton’s sole expression of appreciation.

Following the sound of the laughter, Sally sat up and began blinking her soft golden brown eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy kitten.

“I think you had far better give yourself up to justice and have someone take care of you properly,” she announced in a far-away voice. This was the conclusion which Sally had just reached at the end of her half-sleeping and half-waking dream of her runaway soldier.

She did not know that she was to make such an extraordinary remark aloud, but fortunately no one had the faintest knowledge of her meaning.

Indeed, no one really heard her, as the girls were too amused over Sally’s characteristic habit of falling asleep on occasions when conversation or entertainment bored her.

Immediately after the laughter, Sally, not understanding its cause, nevertheless arose and began her journey to bed. She was annoyed but not seriously, since in waking she had reached the conclusion she desired. In the morning at dawn, before the other members of her household were awake, she would make a second trip to the château.

She would carry provisions to the soldier and then advise him to leave the neighborhood immediately. Unless he departed of his own free will, taking his chances as he must, she then would be compelled to tell that he was in hiding.

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.