The Camp Fire Girls on the Field of Honor

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.”

CHAPTER XIII

A DEPARTURE AND AN ARRIVAL

One evening two days later a little after the hour for bedtime at the farm, Mrs. Burton knocked softly at Miss Patricia’s door.

Miss Patricia quickly opened it.

“You are ill, Polly Burton. Well, it is just what I have been expecting ever since the arrival of that strange man and woman. It seems to me that we had quite enough to do without entertaining guests. Besides, it strikes me as pure waste of energy, this riding about through the country with strangers when you should be at some real work.”

During her speech Miss Patricia had drawn the younger woman into her room, closed the door behind her and was now gazing at her severely but it must be confessed solicitously as well.

“But I am not ill, Aunt Patricia,” Mrs. Burton protested as soon as she was allowed an opportunity to speak. “I only came in to have a talk with you about something important.”

Aunt Patricia’s bedroom was large and empty, for there was more space at the old farm house than furniture. A great old-fashioned French bed had been spared from the general wreckage and upon this Mrs. Burton seated herself, drawing her feet up under her and her lavender dressing gown about her, since with so little heat in the house the bedrooms were uncomfortably cold.

There was but one solitary stiff-backed chair, in which Miss Patricia sat perfectly erect.

“Why not come here and sit beside me? There is plenty of room, and you will be more comfortable,” Mrs. Burton urged.

Aunt Patricia shook her head.

“I am quite comfortable where I am. Moreover, Polly Burton, if I am an old woman and you no longer a young one, at the same time I am aware that you have every idea of trying to persuade me to some point of view of which you do not think I will approve. I have seen your methods before this evening. Thank you, I shall remain where I am.”

Mrs. Burton laughed.

Aunt Patricia did look so uncompromising in a hideous smoke-gray dressing gown made without any attempt at decorations. Her small knot of hair was screwed into a tight coil at the back of her head.

Mrs. Burton’s own hair had kept its beautiful dusky quality, it had the dark sheen of the hair of the mythical Irish fairies, for only in Anglo-Saxon countries are fairies of necessity fair. Tonight Mrs. Burton’s hair was unbound and hung about her shoulders as if she were a girl.

Fearing that Miss Patricia might regard her frivolous appearance with disfavor, she now began braiding it into one heavy braid.

“What ever it is you desire to say, I do wish you would begin, Polly, so that we both can go to bed,” the elderly spinster remarked.

Mrs. Burton shook her head. “You are not in a good humor, are you, Aunt Patricia? But at least there is one thing you will be glad to hear: our guests, Monsieur Duval and Mrs. Bishop, are leaving our farm the day after tomorrow.”

“A good riddance,” Miss Patricia answered sharply.

Then observing that her companion had flushed and undoubtedly was annoyed by her plain speaking, Aunt Patricia’s manner became slightly mollified.

“It is not that I have anything personal against your friends, Polly. I must say they have both endeavored to be very agreeable since their arrival and to give as little trouble as possible. But I told you on board ship I did not like the attitude of that Frenchman toward you. It was no surprise to me when he discovered he had important business in this part of France. Of course it should not be necessary for me to remind you that you are a married woman, with your unfortunate husband serving his country in France many miles from here and also that you are chaperoning a group of young girls. I suppose you will simply tell me that I do not understand French manners, but that is neither here nor there, Polly Burton. Your Frenchman is polite to your friend, Mrs. Bishop, I must confess he is also courteous to me; but I am obliged to repeat that his manner neither to Mrs. Bishop nor to me is in the least like his manner to you.”

“Aunt Patricia, you are so ridiculous! Still I don’t feel like laughing this time; you really are making me angry,” Mrs. Burton answered.

“I have made a great many persons angry in my life, Polly. I cannot even flatter myself that this is the first time I have offended you. However, I feel compelled to speak the truth.” Miss Patricia’s tone remained imperturbable.

“But that is just the trouble, Aunt Patricia, you are not speaking the truth, although of course I know you don’t realize it and I beg your pardon,” Mrs. Burton argued. “But why do you allow yourself to acquire such prejudices and such foolish impressions? I simply refuse to discuss the suggestion you have just made. Please never speak of it to me again.”

Ordinarily when the celebrated Mrs. Burton assumed an air of offended dignity such as she wore at present her world was apt to sue for pardon. Miss Patricia revealed no such intention. As a matter of fact, as she remained resolutely silent and as Mrs. Burton had not yet explained the reason for her visit, it was she who had to resume the conversation in a conciliatory manner.

“I presume you won’t approve then, Aunt Patricia, of what I wish to speak to you. Monsieur Duval has been ordered to southern France on some work for his government and has asked Mrs. Bishop and me to accompany him, because it is work in which he thinks we may be useful. You know the Germans have been sending back some of the French refugees whom they drove before them in their retreat. There are groups of five hundred at a time who now and then are sent over the border either from Germany or Switzerland. They are penniless and not only have no money or food or clothes; they do not know whether their families are living or dead and in any case have no way to reach them. The French government is to try to arrange some plan by which homes may be secured for these unfortunate people until they can communicate with their relatives or friends.”

“An excellent idea, but I do not exactly see your connection with it,” Miss Patricia returned.

Mrs. Burton shrugged her shoulders impatiently. In all her life she never remembered any one who had opposed her desires in exactly the same fashion Miss Patricia did. Then, a little ashamed of herself, she answered gently but firmly:

“My connection is that I am interested and that Mrs. Bishop and I have both decided to accompany Monsieur Duval. It is barely possible that we may be useful and able to offer a certain amount of advice. So many of the refugees are young women who have suffered impossible things and may require special care and shelter. Besides, I am very deeply anxious to see more of the country. We expect to travel south in the sector the Germans held three years ago. I will thus be able to find out how much restoration work has already been accomplished and how great a task remains. Moreover, Aunt Patricia dear, I have a personal errand. Surely you will think this important.

“You remember my talking to you of the old peasant whose granddaughter, Elsie, had been driven into exile. Except to me the old woman has never spoken of her loss. Now there is a possibility that Elsie has been sent back into France and I have promised Grand’mère to search for her.

“Moreover, Aunt Patricia, each village in the devastated districts has been ordered to prepare a list of names of the missing who disappeared at the time of the German retreat. These lists are to be turned over to Monsieur Duval. A committee is to be appointed near the frontier to take charge of the lists and see that the refugees get in touch with their own people as soon as possible. Don’t you think this a wonderful scheme?”

As Mrs. Burton unfolded the plan which had been carefully worked out with a great deal of foresight and care, in her enthusiasm she forgot Miss Patricia’s chilling attitude. She had spent many hours during the brief visit at the farm of Mrs. Bishop and Monsieur Duval in the outline she had just explained.

Aunt Patricia continued to look unimpressed and uninspired.

“I told you before, Polly, that I had no idea of criticizing Monsieur Duval’s efforts in behalf of his government. I know the situation you speak of is extremely deplorable. Still I fail to see any reason for your assistance. There is sufficient work for you in this immediate neighborhood. However, I presume you have definitely made up your mind,” Miss Patricia concluded.

Before replying, Mrs. Burton waited a moment, watching for a sign of yielding in her companion. But as Miss Patricia gave none, she nodded her head.

“Yes, Aunt Patricia, I am going with Mrs. Bishop and Monsieur Duval, although I am sorry you do not approve of my making the trip. I won’t be away more than two weeks and I feel I may be of greater service than by remaining here.”

“You also feel that traveling about through the French country with a distinguished French politician and a woman author will be far more exciting than staying at the farm and doing your duty, Polly Burton,” Miss Patricia added, allowing her accumulated anger to overflow at last. “Do, please, whatever else you wish to add by way of camouflage, at least confess the truth. I presume it is your idea to leave me to look after the group of girls you undertook to chaperon in France?”

In spite of the fact that by this time, Mrs. Burton, whose amiability was never her strong point, was in as bad a temper as her antagonist, she had to confess to herself that in Miss Patricia’s last speech the scales dropped in her favor.

“Why, yes, Aunt Patricia, that is what I wish you to do. But will it be such a serious responsibility? The work at the farm is so splendidly organized now and the girls are so deeply interested, I don’t see why you should have any especial difficulty if you will just allow things to go on as they are at present.”

Of her own free will Miss Patricia at this moment rose from her stiff chair and came and sat on the edge of the bed facing the younger woman. She showed no sign of relaxing either physically or mentally, or of any softening in her rigid point of view.

“I wonder, Polly Burton, if you have any reason for believing that things usually go on in exactly the same fashion in this world, after one has carefully arranged that they should? Of course I shall do my best to look after the Camp Fire girls, although they do not like me and I do not understand them. There is no telling what may occur in your absence,” Miss Patricia ended so gloomily that Mrs. Burton’s eyes shone with merriment, although she carefully lowered her lids.

At the same instant, to her surprise, she felt Miss Patricia lean over and seize her by both shoulders. For a second she wondered if Aunt Patricia had made up her mind to shake her because of her rebellion. Instead Miss Patricia added unexpectedly:

“Polly, my dear child, I really don’t wish you to go on this wild goose chase, partly for the reasons I have given you, but also because I am afraid for you. You know the world is expecting another great German offensive this spring and no one understands why it has been delayed so long. Well, you must realize that as you travel farther south in France the line between the German and the French armies grows narrower and narrower. Only a few miles of victory and the Germans will again occupy their old line! It is possible you might arrive at some district at a crucial moment when a battle was beginning. Then the saints alone could preserve you!”

With the last few words of her long speech Miss Patricia reverted to her Irish brogue and her Irish faith.

Afterwards Mrs. Burton was glad to remember that, although Aunt Patricia certainly was not regarding her with affection at the moment, nevertheless, she slipped her arm about the elderly lady’s hard and upright shoulders.

“You are a dear, Aunt Patricia! But please don’t worry. We are not going into any dangerous neighborhoods. The drive will not begin for many weeks. In any case there will be no retreat. Yet indeed we mean to take every possible precaution and at no time will we be near the German line. It is good of you to think I am worth worrying over, but this time it is not necessary.”