A VEXING PROBLEM
The boys, who had attained a good working knowledge of the French
language, listened breathlessly. The gentle questions of the officer
were easy to follow, but without pressing too close to the sad group
they were unable to hear the whispered, broken replies of the woman.
That the story was a sad one, one of the uncounted tragedies of the
invasion of a cruel and heartless enemy, they could easily guess by
the break in the French officer’s voice and the unashamed and manly
tears that filled his eyes. Slowly, painfully she told her story,
the two tiny children clutching her closely the while. Fainter and
fainter grew the feeble voice. Porky and Beany knew instinctively
that they were standing in the presence of death; not the glorious
and gallant passing that the soldier finds on the battlefield, but
the coming of release from a long and undeserved agony. As the
little group watched, one bloodless hand reached up and drew the
thin shawl away from her breast. There was a wound there; a cruel
death wound that she had stanched as best she could and had covered
from the eyes of the two babies. As though her story was all ended,
the pitiful eyes fixed themselves on the face of the officer who
held her. Rapidly he made the sign of the cross, then with his hand
held high, he spoke to the dying woman. It was enough. A smile of
peace lighted the worn face, one long look she bent on the two
children, and turning her head as if for protection toward the blue
tunic against which she rested, she closed her eyes, sighed, and was
still.
Reverently laying down his burden, the officer rose to his feet. And
while the group stood with bared heads, he told the story as he had
just heard it.
The dead woman’s name was Marie Duval. For two hundred years her
people had lived in simple ease and comfort on the well-tilled farm.
In rapid, thrilling sentences, he sketched the story of their happy,
blameless lives, through Marie’s innocent childhood, her girlhood,
and up to the time of her meeting with young Pierre Duval. Pierre
had a good farm of his own down the valley, and there they lived in
simple happiness and prosperity. Three children were born, the two
little creatures crouching before them and one a little older, now
dead.
When the war broke out, Pierre put on his uniform and went away. For
a while, like other heroic women, she tilled the little farm until
one night when a small scouting party of Huns swept down, burning
and destroying all that lay in their path. She escaped with her
children under cover of the darkness and made her way back to her
father’s house. For a long time they escaped the tide of war, and
lived on and on from day to day, the old, old father and mother and
the young mother waiting for news from Pierre. It came at last....
He was dead.
“Then,” said the French officer, “then her heart seemed to die too,
but she knew that she must live for the sake of the little ones.
Already she could see that the agony and terror of it all was
killing the aged parents. Four sons were fighting, and one by one
they followed Pierre to death.
“Nearer and nearer came the German lines until one awful day a horde
of heartless warriors swept over them.
“Sirs, you know the rest,” said the French officer, his fine face
twitching with emotion. “It is the same old story, the old man
ruthlessly tortured and killed, his old wife kept alive just long
enough to see him die. The oldest grandchild was with her. He too
was tortured while his mother, hidden and imprisoned in a portion of
the cellar under the smoking ruins of the farmhouse, heard his
childish screams of agony.
“She tried frantically to free herself from the ruins. A soldier saw
her, brought the fainting child almost within reach of her hand and
killed him. Then with the same weapon he made a savage thrust for
her heart, but could only reach close enough to inflict a deep
wound. Then making sure that she could not escape from the cellar,
he rode away after his troop. She became unconscious, and for days
the two little children must have lived on the vegetables stored
about them. When she regained consciousness she found strength to
drag herself to the shelves where the family provisions were stored.
All that was not spoiled she fed to the children, but they were
without water save for the rainwater that dripped down upon them.
She felt herself growing steadily weaker as the untended wound grew
worse. The whole neighborhood seemed abandoned, and their feeble
cries brought no help. The children pined, and suffering as they
were from shock, soon gave way to the cold dampness and insufficient
food.
“Marie herself lived solely through her determination not to leave
the two helpless babies to their fate. She prayed that they might
die first, and she was glad to note their failing strength, so
fearful was she of leaving them alone to a horrible, lingering
death.
“She herself grew so weak that much of the time she lay almost
unconscious with the little ones huddled against her. She commenced
to see visions. Pierre came and comforted her and promised that she
should soon be free to be with him. The little martyred son clasped
her in his loving little arms, assuring her that he no longer
suffered. The old mother and father sat beside her and told her to
be brave and patient. But with all her courage she felt that her end
was near. She could not endure much longer.”
The French officer bowed his head.
“Then came deliverance,” he said softly, “deliverance from all her
pain and anguish. She has been released. She is with Pierre!”
One of the officers stepped forward and tenderly covered the still
figure with his cloak. He took the younger child in his arms, but it
screamed and struggled while the other one fought off the friendly
hands stretched down to it. The French officer spoke to them
pleadingly, but they only stared stupidly at him.
“They are almost done for,” said one of the officers. “We have got
to get them away from here and right away.” He made another effort
to take the older child but the little fellow fought with the fury
of a little wildcat. One after another tried in vain to get hold of
the terrified little fellow, who grew more and more frightened.
Porky and Beany, standing modestly in the rear of the group, watched
the proceedings with growing uneasiness. Finally Porky stepped
forwards, saluting as he did so.
“Will you please let us try?” he asked, and taking a worried nod
from the Captain for answer, he sat down beside the dead mother, and
for a long time, as it seemed to the watching group, stared idly
ahead, without so much as a glance at the trembling children.
Then he turned, nodded as though he had just noticed them, and
taking a cake of chocolate from his pocket, bit off a piece and then
broke off a small corner for each child. It was only a taste, but as
the delicious morsel melted on their tongues, they crept to Porky
like a couple of starved kittens. He showed them the rest of the
chocolate and hitched off a few feet. Beany came after. The children
followed, and Porky broke off another small bit for each. Some one
brought water from the cars for them to drink and in fifteen minutes
the thing was done. Porky and Beany, each with a little skeleton in
their arms, wandered well away from the spot where unaccustomed
hands were awkwardly digging a grave for the dead young mother.
“This,” said Porky, as the child in his arms sagged on his shoulder
and seemed to sleep, “this is the worst thing yet!”
“You bet!” said Beany dismally. “Say, did you see me cry back there?
I did!”
“Well, what of it?” demanded Porky. “Didn’t everybody? I’d like to
know how they could help it!”
“I wasn’t looking,” said Beany. “Oh, gosh, they didn’t have to do
things like this.”
“Who, the Huns?” asked his brother. “Why, it’s _all_ like this and a
million times worse!”
“Well, I wish I was grown up,” mourned Beany. “To think we can’t do
much of anything! I want to get even! I want to look some of those
fellows in the face!”
“What’s your idea? Want to tell him what you think?” Porky laughed
unpleasantly, as he shifted the weight of the child. “What’s
worrying me now is what is going to be done with these poor little
kids. Isn’t the one you have a pretty little thing? Even all the
dirt and hunger can’t hide her looks. I suppose they will have to go
into some asylum!”
“I don’t see why,” said Beany suddenly. “Do you remember Mom and Pop
said they wished if we brought them anything from across, it would
be something good and worth while? They didn’t want German helmets
and junk like that. What do you suppose they would say to a couple
of dandy little kids like these?”
“For the love of the board of health!” said his brother solemnly.
“It’s a great thought, sonny, but do you suppose Mom _wants_ to
start in bringing up another lot of children? You know if she ever
started, she would make a good job of it; you know how thorough she
always is.”
“Yes, she is thorough, all right!” grinned Mom’s son. “Look at us!”
“She did the best she could with us, anyhow,” retorted Mom’s other
son solemnly, “and I think, no, I _know_ she would be tickled to
death to do something as real and important as taking these two
little chaps to bring up. And we could help support them if we had
to, later.”
“That’s silly,” said Porky. “You know Dad has made a lot of money.
And he could afford to bring up six of them if he wanted to.”
“Well, all _he_ ever wants is what Mom wants,” said Beany.
“I guess that’s so too,” said Porky, “but perhaps some of those
officers will have some other plans for them.”
He looked down at the child on his arm. Already he felt a tenderness
for the starved, sickly little creature who had trusted him.
“One apiece,” he said, looking at Beany.
“One’s a girl, though,” said Beany.
Porky wanted to be fair.
“That’s so,” he said. “Well, we can draw straws to see which has to
take her.”
“Straws nothing!” said Beany. “She came to me, so she is mine.
Darned if I know what to do with a girl, though! Can’t teach her to
play ball or marbles, and besides that she can’t be a Boy Scout.”
“Well, she can be a girl one. You know they have ’em, and if she
can’t play ball she can learn to swim and dive and ride and shoot,
and it will be pretty handy to have her round the house when it
comes to buttons and things. Mother must get tired sewing for three
of us.”
“Wonder how long it takes ’em to grow up to button size,” said
Beany, studying the tiny bundle in his arms.
“Don’t know,” said Porky. He looked anxiously at his brother. His
generosity in accepting the care of the little girl worried him. He
had to watch Beany, who was always more than generous and
self-sacrificing.
“Why can’t we both have both kids?” he asked. “I don’t want you to
be stung with a girl all the time. It isn’t fair.”
“Stuck with a girl!” said Beany. “Why, Porky, I _like_ it! I never
could see why when any one has a baby, everybody says, ‘Gee, it’s a
boy! Isn’t that bully?’ or else ‘Huh, it’s a girl, too bad!’ I never
could see it. Course when they get _our_ size they mostly are silly
pills, but if _I_ have a hand in bringing up _this_ girl, why, you
just watch her, that’s all! I bet when she’s fifteen she won’t look
cross-eyed at a boy. I bet she knocks their blocks off! She is going
to have some sense!”
“Looks as though you mean to make a scrapper of her,” laughed Porky.
“No, she has got to grow up just as much like Mom as she can.”
“Well, Mom likes boys all right,” was Porky’s reminder.
“Yes, but I bet when she was young she never googled at ’em or
passed notes or accidentally sat down in the same seat with them or
any of that. She isn’t that kind. You can _see_ she isn’t.” And
Beany, whose wavy hair and clear blue eyes had already caused him to
suffer, nodded his head vigorously.
“Go ahead!” said Porky, “I think it’s great having an assortment,
only I didn’t want you to feel as though you had the worst end of
the bargain.”
“Not a bit of it!” said Beany. “Not a bit, and I’ll lend you my girl
to look at or play with whenever you want.”
“Much obliged,” said Porky, “but I can’t help thinking it might be a
good plan to break the news to somebody.”
“Your kidlet is asleep, so he won’t notice. Suppose you go back
there and see what they are doing.”
“I can see from here,” said Porky with a slight shudder. “They are
sort of boarding up a place to put the youngster’s mother. They have
no way of getting a casket or even a box for her.”
“It will be fixed all right,” said Beany. “The Captain does
everything all right. He will fix it just as well as ever he can.
I’d like to go over and see just what they are doing.”
“Better not; you might wake the baby, and we don’t want her to see
her mother again.”
“Well, anyhow, one thing is settled. The pair is ours,” said Porky
with a sigh.
“They are ours if we can have them,” said his brother.
“You watch me!” said Porky grimly.