THE STORY OF THE LORRAINE WAIF
JACK had taken the locket in question out of his coat-pocket and opened
it, extracting the folded paper it contained. This latter he smoothed
out, for it was a mass of creases, from having been crushed into so
small a receptacle.
"'To the kind friend who finds my child,' it
starts," said Jack impressively. "'Her name is
Jeanne Anstey. I am her wretched and dying mother,
dying for my beloved France. It is the Boche who
has done this. They came at daylight, and burned
the poor cottage in which we have been making our
home.
"'That terrible man was here with them as before,
mounted on his horse, and with all his trappings.
His name it is Anton von Berthold, and he is my
half-brother. To my face he boasted, knowing that
I was surely dying, that through Helene he meant
some day to claim our estate in Lorraine, where
there are deposits of iron that will be worth
millions of francs yearly.
"'I believe he has long plotted to get hold of
this property, and schemed to secure his ends
through one of my poor children. Oh! if you have a
heart, my friend, I pray you by all you hold
sacred to see that my Jeanne is cared for; and, if
it be possible, try to save my poor Helene from
that monster.
"'This is the plea of a dying Frenchwoman. I have
faith to believe Heaven will not desert the
innocent in their hour of suffering. So I lay me
down to rest, while my Jeanne will go forth in
search of you, kind friend. And with my last
breath I still proudly say, "_Vive la France!_"'"
"Is that all?" asked Tom, as his chum stopped.
"Yes, and there are some of the words blurred. I think it must have been
through the tears of this poor woman. She seems to have been wealthy
before the Huns drove her out of Lorraine because she had French blood
in her veins, and was probably married to an Englishman. What do you
think of it, Tom?"
"It's certainly a dreadful thing for so small a child as Jeanne to be
left alone in the world," replied the other. "What can we do about her,
Jack, have you any idea?"
Jack remained for a moment in deep thought. Then he gave his comrade a
sidewise look as he spoke again.
"Do you know," he ventured to say, "it has struck me that if we could
get an hour or two off duty this evening you and I might take the
little thing to Nellie and ask her if she couldn't have her looked
after, as long as the Gleasons are out of reach in the south of France."
"Nellie Leroy!" exclaimed Tom, astonished, "Why, how could we manage it?
The last I heard she was in a hospital on the French front, over in the
mountain section of Alsace."
"Oh, I've had later news than that," replied Jack. "Met Harry yesterday,
and among other things he mentioned the fact that his sister had been
transferred to the American front; in fact was right then only a few
miles away from where we stood and talked."
"You never said a word to me about it, Jack! Nor has Nellie
written--unless her letter was lost."
"Meant to tell you, Tom, several times, but something always butted in;
and finally it slipped my mind. And, really, I supposed you knew. But
what do you think of my scheme?"
"Perfectly lovely. It's about the only way I see that we can get Jeanne
into proper hands. Nellie has a heart of gold, and will manage somehow
to see that the little thing is properly cared for."
"Especially when she learns that you've constituted yourself Jeanne's
guardian and protector," chuckled Jack.
"Let up on that, I tell you!"
"Well, this child seems to be thrown in my way for a purpose, and, Tom,
I'm going to try my level best to save her twin sister from that
scoundrel of an uncle," announced Jack, with returning seriousness.
"Hear! hear!" chuckled Tom. "All the knights haven't cashed in yet, it
seems. You ought to have a Sancho Panza around, Jack, because you're out
to rescue beauty in distress; even if in this case the little lady is
only about six years old. But tell me again what the name of the arch
villain is. At the time you mentioned it before, I thought it seemed
sort of familiar to me."
Jack referred again to the crumpled slip of paper to make certain, after
which he announced:
"A regular German name, it seems, though he may of course be a
Lorrainer, as Jeanne's mother was. Anton von Berthold."
"H'm! Thought so!" Tom burst out. "Don't you remember there's a General
von Berthold on the other side, a particularly smart military man, too,
who they say originated this machine-gun-nest business as a means for
delaying the pursuit of a retreating army?"
"Tom, you're right!" exclaimed Jack, evidently annoyed, thinking that
that circumstance might make his self-assumed task the more difficult.
"Wouldn't it be queer if he should prove to be the very one? It doesn't
seem reasonable to me."
"Why not?" demanded his companion quickly. "Couldn't a German general
conspire to lay hands on the property of a relative just as easily as
any ordinary person? Haven't they been accused of stealing most of the
valuables in Belgium and Northern France as spoils of war, from
priceless paintings and works of art to family plate and jewelry?"
"I reckon you're about right, Tom, so far as that goes," agreed Jack,
finally impressed by what his chum said. "General Anton von Berthold--if
we find out that is his first name it would settle it for me. And then
we could perhaps learn from one of the prisoners we find in the barbed
wire stockade something about his goings-on, where he's putting up at
present, and all that, you know."
"And in the meantime don't you think Jeanne would like something to
eat?" asked Tom. "How could she ever have managed to make her way
through the Boche lines, and get to where you ran across her?"
"I've tried to find out," Jack told him. "She mentions something about
being taken by a neighbor after that man carried her sister away on his
horse. They told her that her mother had died, and been buried. Then
one day she was taken, hidden under a load of forage, and carried miles
away. When she was put down in the end they told her she could soon find
the Americans, who were near by. But she had wandered about in the
forest for nearly a whole day before I came on her."
"Well, let's skirmish for something to eat. Our chef is a good friend of
yours, Jack; suppose you go around and tell him what's doing. He'll not
refuse to let you have something for a poor little girl. Take Jeanne
along with you. She'll win Erastus over without fail by one of her
smiles."
"I'll do it, though I hardly think it necessary. The poor little thing
must be awfully tired, too. But I'll carry her, I did that most of the
journey here. Then to get some gas and start back to where Morgan is
sitting on our plane, waiting for me to come."
"Here, you get busy with that gas and I'll manage the grub part of the
programme! If Erastus declines to fork over I'll choke him. But I know
he can't refuse when he sees her," and Tom jerked his thumb backward
while saying this toward Jeanne, now sitting on a friendly stump looking
about her with interest at the bustling scene.
Jack hurried away to secure a can of gasoline, while Tom took Jeanne by
the hand and led her toward the air squadron's camp kitchen, or
"chuck-wagon."
Erastus, the cook, was as usual about that hour as busy as a bee. With
so many hungry men to provide for when meal time came around, he hardly
found a minute to call his own.
It chanced, however, that Tom, as well as Jack, had become a favorite
with the cook, and he always had a cheery word for either of the young
air pilots.
"Ah, there, Sergeant, where'd you get the skirt?" he remarked, giving
little Jeanne several winks, though the red of his face was only
indicative of good-nature.
It smelled so good around the steamer of coffee and the piles of fresh
bread which Erastus and his helper had piled up that even the timid
child smiled back at the one who seemed to be the "boss" of all that
vast array of good things--much more than she had ever seen before in
all her life.
For Jeanne was very, very hungry, having eaten almost nothing since the
previous afternoon.
"Jack came across her, you see, Erastus, and--" bending forward so
Jeanne might not hear what he said--"she's lost her sister, and the
mother has died, a victim of the Huns. Erastus, she's nearly starved,
and I was wondering whether you wouldn't give me something for her."
"Against orders, you know, Sergeant," said the other. Then he looked
more pityingly than ever at the pretty child. "But just this once I
might," he added. "Say, I'd go without my own supper sooner'n see that
duck suffer, sure I would. Wait around, and see what happens, Sergeant."
Tom did linger, apparently explaining to little Jeanne all about the
wonderful invention in the way of a cook's outfit that could take care
of a multitude of hungry fighters, and which was modeled somewhat on the
pattern of the "chuck-wagon" long in use on the cattle ranges of the far
Southwest.
Then there was a mysterious passing of something that Tom hastened to
stow away, an exchange of muttered words with the rosy-cheeked cook,
after which Tom and Jeanne went back to the quarters of the boys, where
for some little time he watched the almost starving child devour
quantities of bread and butter--actually real butter--made into
sandwiches which Erastus had hastily done up for her.
Tom was about to go to headquarters with the request that he and Jack
might be allowed a short furlough in order to take the little girl to
put her in Nellie Leroy's care when an orderly came with a message from
the young airman's superior officer ordering him to go out on special
scout duty.
It was with a half sigh that Tom Raymond began his preparations, for his
interest in Nellie was deep, and he had looked forward with pleasure to
this chance of seeing her, and now he must leave this matter wholly to
his chum.
Still, little Jeanne Anstey was Jack's "find," and the young air pilot
was evidently deeply interested in the child and wanted to aid her with
as little help from others, even from his best chum, as was possible.
Perhaps, after all, Tom felt, it was best that the matter was left to
Jack.
But Jack was a long time in returning. In a short time Tom must go on
duty, and what was he to do with Jeanne in the meanwhile?
"Little girls are all right," murmured Tom, "but I guess they are not
much in my line. Gee! I wish Jack would come."