The Campfire Girls On The Field Of Honor Part 5

"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."

CHAPTER VI

A FRENCH FARM HOUSE ON THE FIELD OF HONOR

"Is the French country more tragic or less so than you antic.i.p.ated, Vera?" Peggy Webster inquired.

She and Vera Lagerloff were walking along what must once have served as a road, each girl carrying a large, nearly empty basket on her arm.

"Do you mean the actual country?" Vera questioned. "Then, yes, conditions are worse than I expected to find them, certainly in a neighborhood like this, where the work of restoration is only just beginning." She frowned, shaking her head sadly. "I could never have imagined G.o.d's earth could be transformed to look like a place of torment, and yet this countryside suggests one of the h.e.l.ls in Dante's 'Inferno.' But if you mean are the French people more tragic than I thought to find them, then a thousand times, no! Was there ever anything so inspiring or so amazing as their happiness and courage in returning to their old homes? The fact that their homes are no longer in existence seems not to discourage them, now their beloved land has been restored.

When we have been working here a longer time I hope I shall recover from my desire to weep each time I see an old man or woman happily engaged in rebuilding one of their ruined huts. It is a wonderful experience, Peggy, this opportunity to appreciate the spiritual bravery of the French people. I hope I may learn a lesson from them. I have needed just such a lesson since Billy's death."

For a moment Peggy Webster made no reply.

The entire countryside through which they were pa.s.sing lay between the line of the German advance into France at the beginning of the war and the famous Hindenburg line to which the Boches were forced back. The Germans had so devastated the French villages and country, it was as if the plague of the world had swept across them. The valley had also suffered the bombardment of the enemy and the returning fire from their own guns.

Yet on this winter day the sun was s.h.i.+ning brilliantly on the uptorn earth, which once had been so fair, while in a bit of broken sh.e.l.l not far from the road an indomitable sparrow had builded her nest.

There were no shrubs and the trees were gaunt scarred trunks, without branches or leaves, reminding one of an ancient gloomy picture in the old-time family Bible, known as "Dry Bones in the Valley."

"Well, even the French country does not make me sorrowful, not just at present," Peggy replied. "If only the enemy can be forced further back next spring when the expected drive takes place, what a wonderful opportunity for us to be allowed to continue to help with the restoration of the French country. I do not believe many years will be required before the land will be lovely and fruitful again. But then you know I am a tiresome practical person. You don't suppose by any chance this portion of France will ever be destroyed by the enemy a second time? Yes, I know even such a suggestion sounds like disloyalty and I do not of course believe such a tragedy could occur. Just think, Vera, what only a handful of American women have accomplished here in the Aisne valley! Ten American women have had charge of the rehabilitation of twenty-seven villages and with the aid of the soldiers during their leaves of absence from the trenches have placed five thousand acres of land under cultivation. I hope we make a success of our work, Vera, yet whatever the future holds, we must stick to our posts."

The two Camp Fire girls were walking ankle deep in the winter mud. Where the roads had been cut into furrows by the pa.s.sing of heavy artillery, miniature streams of melted snow ran winding in and out like the branches of a river. Now and then a gulley across the road would be so deep and wide that one had to make a flying leap to cross safely.

About a quarter of a mile away the Aisne watered the countryside and the towns. Not far off was the cla.s.sic old town of Rheims with her ancient Cathedral already partly destroyed. Encircling the landscape was the crown of low hills where not for days but years the tides of battle have surged up and down from victory to defeat, from defeat to victory, until during the winter of 1917 and 1918 there was a lull in the world conflict.

Finally the two girls came in sight of a field. Already a devoted effort was being made to prepare the ground for an early spring plowing. Stray bits of sh.e.l.l, the half of a battered helmet, the b.u.t.t of a broken gun had been laid in a neat pile, the larger stones had been placed beside them.

Standing in front of a tiny hut which evidently had been partly burned down, were an old man and woman busily at work trying to rebuild their house. A small quant.i.ty of new lumber lay on the ground beside them.

"Dear me, I wish I were a carpenter, a mason, a doctor, I don't know what else, and a million times a millionaire, then one might really be useful!" Peggy exclaimed, as she and Vera stopped to gaze sympathetically at the old couple.

The next instant their attention was also attracted by a child who was sitting near the pile of broken stones and sh.e.l.ls nursing something in her arms. At first she did not observe the two American girls, although they were facing her and not many yards away.

Her shock of dark hair looked as if it had been cut from her head in the darkness, she had large unhappy black eyes and a thin, haggard face.

Finally discovering the two older girls, with an unexpected cry of terror, she made a flying leap toward the house, still clasping her broken doll, and hid herself inside.

At the child's cry the man and woman also turned as if they too were frightened and yet unable to flee. For an instant Vera and Peggy saw in their faces a suggestion of what they all too recently had endured. The next moment the old peasants were bowing and smiling with unfailing politeness.

"Do you think we might speak to them, Vera?" Peggy inquired. "Of course we do not wish to be obtrusive, but I have a few groceries which I did not give away in the village still remaining in my basket. It is possible they might find them useful. How glad I am Yvonne Fleury is living with us! Already she has taught me more than I could ever learn in any other way about the French people, their gentleness, their infinite industry and patience and above all their beautiful manners. I hope no one of them will ever feel any American tries to help in a spirit of patronage; as for myself, each day I pray for a fresh gift of tact."

Vera started forward.

"Come with me, Peggy, I think I can persuade the two old people to realize we only wish to be helpful. You see, my own people were Russian peasants and there ought to be a bond of sympathy between us. It is true the French earned their liberty over a century ago, while our liberty yet hangs in the balance, now that German autocracy is trying to replace the Russian. I believe I am a better carpenter than these old people; if they are friendly I intend to ask them to allow me to return to a.s.sist them with their work tomorrow."

Afterwards for ten or fifteen minutes the two girls remained talking happily with their new acquaintances.

Like many other Americans, both Vera and Peggy had firm faith in their knowledge of the French language until their arrival in France.

a.s.suredly they could understand each other perfectly as well as other Americans and English friends who spoke French slowly and deliberately.

But unfortunately the French folk apparently speak with greater rapidity than any other nation on the face of the earth and with a wealth of idioms and unexpected intonations, leaving the foreigner who has never lived in France floundering hopelessly in pursuit of their meaning.

In contrast with their other new French acquaintances the two American girls now found the old peasant and his wife a real satisfaction. Their vocabularies were not large and they spoke in a halting, simple fas.h.i.+on not difficult to translate.

Their story was not unlike the story of thousands of other families in the stricken regions of France. During the period of victory the Germans had been quartered in the nearby village, but as the village was not large and the soldiers were numerous, a few of them had been sent to live with the small peasant farmers not far from the town. They were ordered not only to live upon them, but also to secure whatever livestock they owned, or whatever food of value.

Pere and Mere Michet had possessed a daughter and a son-in-law. The son they thought still alive and fighting for France. Their daughter, Marguerite Michet, had disappeared.

"La pet.i.te Marguerite, she has never been herself since her mother was taken," Mere Michet explained. "I tell her always _la bonne mere_ will return, but she is afraid of strangers; you will pardon her?"

When at last the girls had been permitted to leave their small offerings and had started toward their new home, Vera had agreed to return next day to render what a.s.sistance she could toward the restoration of the little house. Peggy was to come back in order to persuade the little French girl to make friends and perhaps pay them a visit at the farm.

After walking on for a short added distance, both girls finally reached their own French farm house.

It was now late afternoon and the old battered building appeared homely and forbidding. Once upon a time, with the French love of color, the farm house had been painted a bright pink, but now the color had been washed off, as if tears had rolled down the face of some poor old painted lady, smearing her faded cheeks. A fire had evidently been started when the Germans began their retreat, which for some freakish reason had died down after destroying only the rear portion of the building.

After the arrival of the Camp Fire unit in France the entire party had gone straight to Paris as they planned, where their credentials had been presented to the proper authorities, as well as a brief outline of the work which they hoped to be allowed to undertake. Their idea was at once so simple and so practical that no objection was raised.

The Camp Fire unit looked forward to establis.h.i.+ng a community farm in one of the ruined districts of France. So after a short stay in Paris, following the advice of the American Committee, Mrs. Burton and Aunt Patricia set out to find a home for their unit. Later the Camp Fire girls joined them at the old farm house on the Aisne.

Only a little time had pa.s.sed, nevertheless the farm already suggested home.

As Peggy and Vera entered the open s.p.a.ce where a gate had once stood, they discovered the entire Camp Fire community outside in the yard.

As usual, Aunt Patricia was giving orders to everybody in sight, while Mrs. Burton in her effort to be of a.s.sistance as she urged the others not to attempt too much, was fluttering about, as often as not in the way.

As a matter of fact, the Camp Fire girls were paying but little attention either to her or to Aunt Patricia. Mary Gilchrist, a few moments before, having driven her motor into the farm yard, the girls were at present helping her to unload.

After crossing to France with the Sunrise Camp Fire Unit, Mary had become so much one of them that she had concluded to remain with them for a time, certainly until she could find more useful work. Therefore her motor and her services were temporarily at their disposal.

It is amazing what women and girls are accomplis.h.i.+ng these days without masculine aid, and whether or not this is a fortunate state of affairs, the war has left no choice.

Since they were both strong and energetic, Vera and Peggy were glad to have reached home at so critical a moment. However, the other girls were getting on quite comfortably without their aid. Bettina and Alice Ashton, having placed a plank at the end of the car, managed so that the large boxes and packing cases could slide onto the ground without being lifted. Nearly every box of any size bore the name of "Miss Patricia Lord."

Finally, "Gill," for the Camp Fire girls were by this time calling Mary Gilchrist by her diminutive t.i.tle, as she seemed to prefer it, standing up on the seat of her motor, began signaling for attention.

"Be quiet for a moment everybody, please, and listen as diligently as you can. I am not a magician, nor yet a ventriloquist, yet if you will be perfectly silent you will think I am one or both."

The next instant and Mary's audience became aware of an extraordinary combination of familiar noises proceeding from the depths of her motor.

One felt like a guest at a "mad tea-party," although of a different nature from Alice's. The noises were a mingled collection of squawks and cackles and crowing, and pitched in a considerably lower key, a rich but unmistakable grunt.

Alone Aunt Patricia appeared gratified, almost exultant.

Stepping over toward the car with her long, militant stride, she gave her commands briefly.