A FRENCH FARM HOUSE ON THE FIELD OF HONOR
"Is the French country more tragic or less so than you anticipated,
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 God's earth could be transformed to look like a place of
torment, and yet this countryside suggests one of the hells 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 passing 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 shining brilliantly on the uptorn
earth, which once had been so fair, while in a bit of broken shell 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 passing 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 classic 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 shell, the half of a battered helmet, the butt 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 quantity 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 shells 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 assist
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.
Assuredly 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 fashion
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 petite 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 assistance 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 establishing 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 passed, nevertheless the farm already suggested
home.
As Peggy and Vera entered the open space 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 assistance 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 accomplishing 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 title, 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.
"Here, Vera, you have more brains than the other girls, help me to move
these crates. Polly Burton considered it possible to run a community
farm without a farm animal within twenty miles. But then she was not
brought up on a small place in Ireland where we kept the pig in the
parlor!" And here Miss Patricia's rich Irish brogue betrayed her
cheerfulness for she only gave sway to her Irish pronunciation in
moments of excitement.
The next moment, not only with Vera's but also with Peggy's and Alice
Ashton's aid, the four women dragged forward a large wooden box with
open slats containing a noble collection of fowls, then another of geese
and ducks. Finally with extreme caution they engineered the landing of a
crate which had been the temporary home of a comfortable American hog
and her eugenic family.
"Good gracious, Aunt Patricia, how did you ever manage to acquire such
valuable possessions?" Mrs. Burton demanded.
"By ordering them shipped from my own farm in Massachusetts a month or
more before we sailed for France and then by forwarding my address to
the proper persons after we landed here," Miss Patricia answered calmly.
Ignoring any further assistance, she began opening a box which was
filled with grain.
"I presume other things have arrived for me as well, Mary Gilchrist?"
Miss Patricia questioned.
Mary nodded and laughed. She looked very fetching in her motor driver's
costume of khaki with the short skirt and trousers and the Norfolk
jacket belted in military fashion. On her hair, which had ruddy red
brown lights in it, she wore a small military hat deeply dented in the
center.
"Goodness gracious, Aunt Patricia, dozens of things!" she replied. "You
must have chartered an entire steamer to bring over your gifts to the
French nation. Best of all, there are two beautiful cows waiting for you
in Soissons at this moment. I could not bring them in the motor, nor did
I dare invite them to amble along behind my car. But I have arranged
with an old man in the town to escort the cows out to our place
tomorrow, or as soon as possible."
No one did anything but stare at Miss Patricia for the next few seconds.
Whether or not this condition of affairs made her unusually
self-conscious, or whatever the reason, finally she rested from her
labor of opening boxes to gaze first at Mrs. Burton and then slowly from
one girl's face to the other's.
"I don't mean to add to your burdens by asking any one of you to assist
me in running my farm," she began in a tone which might have been
considered apologetic had it emanated from any one than Aunt Patricia.
"I intend to find an old man to help and to do the rest myself."
Then a peculiar expression crossed the rugged old face.
"You see, I was raised on a tiny farm in Ireland and used sometimes to
know what it meant to be hungry until my brother came over to the United
States and made a fortune in ways I am more or less ashamed to remember.
I have been telling Polly Burton that I crossed over to France because I
wished to look after her and also to help her care for you girls. But
that was not the whole truth. I think I came largely because I could not
sleep in my bed of nights knowing how many old people and babies there
were in this devil-ridden portion of France who were hungry. Oh, there
are many people as well as the governments interested in keeping the
soldiers well fed! Maybe it's a crime these days for the old and for
babies to require food! Yet they do need it. So if you don't mind,
Polly, I want the people in our neighborhood to feel that they can come
to our farm for milk and eggs, or whatever we have to give them. I left
word with the manager of my farm near Boston to ship livestock to me in
France whenever the chance offers. I am hoping after a little, when
these old people get back on their farms that we may be able to give
each family sufficient stock to keep them going until their young men
and women return home. But remember, I don't wish to interfere with what
you children are doing, nursing the sick and opening schools and
starting play centers. Heaven only knows what you are not undertaking!
As I said before, I'll just look after my farm."
Here Miss Patricia attempted to return to her usual belligerent manner,
but found it difficult because Mrs. Burton had placed her arm about her.
Try as Aunt Patricia might to conceal her adoration of Mrs. Burton, it
was nearly always an impossible feat.
Besides Mrs. Burton was exclaiming with a little catch in her voice:
"You dear, splendid, old Irish gentlewoman! Is there anybody in the
world in the least like you? Of course you were right when you announced
that I never would think of the really practical things we should
require for our work over here. But, although I spent as much money as I
could possibly afford, I have realized every day since our arrival, that
if I had expended every cent I ever hope to possess, it would have
amounted to nothing. Yet I never once thought of the shipping of stock
for the little farms in our neighborhood, Aunt Patricia. I am sure you
will make life more worth while for every man and woman in this part of
the French country before many months."
Instead of appearing gratified by these compliments, Miss Patricia was
heard to murmur something or other about Polly Burton's fashion of
exaggeration. Then, perhaps partly to conceal embarrassment, she began
tearing the slats from the side of one of her crates. Afterwards,
driving her travel-worn flock of chickens toward the chicken house,
which she herself had made ready, and shooing them with her black skirt,
Miss Patricia temporarily disappeared.
Through tears Mrs. Burton laughed at the picture.
Vera followed Miss Patricia, whom she had learned to like and admire
since the afternoon of their extraordinary introduction.
"I hope to be allowed to help with the farm work, Aunt Patricia," she
urged. "You know I too was brought up on Mr. Webster's farm in New
Hampshire, besides, all my people in Russia were peasant farmers."
Miss Patricia did not cease for an instant to continue to care for her
brood. However, she did answer with unusual condescension:
"You are a sensible girl, Vera. I observed the fact on the afternoon I
met you in New York City when you made no effort to argue with me in
connection with the escape of that ridiculous burglar."