BREAKERS AHEAD
A little tired and also because her attention was occupied with her
recent experience, Sally did not choose her way over the rough
countryside so carefully and therefore managed to take a much longer
time for her return to the farm.
Now that the sun had disappeared, the countryside seemed to have grown
depressingly desolate. In the gray afternoon light the blackened tree
trunks which had been partly burned were stark and ugly.
Under ordinary circumstances Sally was particularly susceptible to
physical discomfort, yet this afternoon she was too concerned over her
problem to be more than vaguely disturbed by her surroundings.
One thought continually assailed her. Would it be possible to appear
among the other girls looking and behaving as if nothing unusual had
occurred? For Sally had an honest and profound conviction that she had
no talent for deception. How could she realize that she belonged to the
type of women with whom dissimulation is a fine art once the exigencies
of a situation required it? She had come to one definite conclusion, she
would not betray the presence of the runaway soldier in the chateau for
at least another twenty-four hours. She would take him food the next day
and he might have the opportunity to attempt an escape. In all
probability he would soon be captured and punished, and this was
doubtless the fate he deserved; nevertheless Sally was glad that, in a
cowardly fashion, she would not be directly responsible.
She looked forward to the evening and the next day with no joy, bitterly
regretting that she had not spent her leisure hours in resting and
reading as she had at first intended. Surely repose and a contented
spirit were more to be desired than unexpected adventures!
Weary and dispirited, Sally finally arrived at home, only to be met in
the front hall by Miss Patricia, who at once showed signs of an
approaching storm.
As a matter of fact, she was excessively annoyed over a piece of
information she had just received, so it was unfortunate that Sally
should return at a moment when she must bear the brunt of it.
Moving a little listlessly up the broad uncarpeted stairs toward the
bedroom she shared with her sister, the girl scarcely noticed the older
woman's presence. She was hoping that Alice had not yet returned and
that she might have a few moments to herself.
Miss Patricia opened the attack with her usual vigor.
"What do you mean, Sally, by going off this afternoon, knowing that I
particularly needed your help? You must understand that it is highly
improper for a young girl to tramp about over this French country alone.
Even if Polly Burton has permitted you Camp Fire girls the most
extraordinary amount of freedom, she surely has realized this and warned
you against such indiscretion. There is no way of guessing into what
difficulty you may have already managed to entangle yourself!"
Sally felt herself flushing until her clear skin was suffused with
glowing color.
"I am sorry, Miss Patricia," she said, "but remember that I am not a
child and cannot have you speak to me as if I were a disobedient one. I
have been for a walk and----"
But fortunately Sally was not required to complete her sentence.
Suddenly Mrs. Burton had appeared out of her bedroom and began to hurry
downstairs.
"Sally!" she called with a suggestion of appeal in her voice. "The
excitement over your disappearance is my fault, so please don't you and
Aunt Patricia quarrel. A little while ago when I returned home and Mere
'Toinette told me that you had gone out alone and she did not know in
what direction, why, I became uneasy. You will not again, will you?
Really I am afraid it is not safe for you children, although with me of
course the case is different. Aunt Patricia is not disposed to think so,
forgetting my advanced age. Still, Sally, no matter how enthusiastic we
may feel over our work here in the shell-torn area of France, we must
remember these are war times when one never knows what may happen next.
Besides, the French do not always understand our American ideas of
liberty for young girls."
By this time having reached the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Burton slipped
her hand inside Sally's, glancing back with a slightly amused and
slightly apologetic expression toward Miss Patricia.
"Really, Aunt Patricia, I do regret your being so annoyed, yet you must
not take my news too seriously. Our guests are sure not to remain with
us long."
To the latter part of her Camp Fire guardian's remark Sally Ashton paid
not the slightest heed, so concerned was she with the first part of her
speech.
Why of all times should this question of her personal liberty come up
for discussion _this_ afternoon? Of her own free choice Sally felt
convinced that she would never willingly go out alone. Nevertheless, how
was she to keep her word to the young soldier unless she returned next
day to the chateau? with the food she had promised him and without
confiding the fact to any one else? Oh, why had she allowed herself to
be drawn into this reckless promise? At this moment if she could only
slip into her Camp Fire guardian's room and ask her advice! Miss
Patricia would insist that if the soldier were a deserter he straightway
should be brought to justice. But Sally understood her Camp Fire
guardian well enough to appreciate that, once hearing the soldier in
hiding was ill and wounded, she would be as reluctant as Sally herself
to follow her manifest duty.
Confidence on this particular subject was for the present out of the
question, and as soon as she conveniently could Sally disappeared inside
her own room. Later, when the other girls had returned, weary from their
long errand of mercy in the next village and yet immensely interested in
their experience, Sally pretended to have a slight headache.
During supper she scarcely listened to the ever steady stream of
conversation which flowed unceasingly each evening. In the daytime the
American newcomers to the old French farm on the Aisne were too much
engaged to allow opportunity for conversation. After supper they
gathered in their improvised sitting-room to talk until their early
bedtime.
The sitting-room was oddly furnished with whatever furniture could be
rescued after the commandeering of the more valuable possessions by the
Germans.
In the attic a few broken chairs stored away for years had been brought
down and repaired. These were beautiful pieces of furniture in
conspicuous contrast to the couches and stools which originally had
arrived at the farm as large wooden boxes containing provisions.
With old Jean's assistance, Peggy and Vera had developed unexpected
talents as carpenters.
Moreover, whatever her faults, Miss Patricia Lord was an unfailing
source of supply. During her brief stay in Paris, without mentioning the
fact to any one else, she had purchased thirty yards of old blue and
rose cretonne, perhaps with the knowledge that beauty even of the
simplest kind helps one to happiness and accomplishment.
Therefore the two couches in the sitting-room were covered with the
cretonne, and half a dozen box chairs; and there were cretonne valances
at the windows.
Save a single old lamp which had been left in the sitting-room, it had
no other ornaments.
The lamp was of bronze and bore the figure of a genie holding the stand,
so that obviously it had been christened "Aladdin's lamp." It was
supposed to gratify whatever wish one expressed, but the Camp Fire girls
were too busy with the interests of other people at present to spend
much time in considering their personal desires.
There was one other object of interest in the room, a large photograph
of the ruined Rheims Cathedral, which Mrs. Burton had bought in the
neighborhood of Rheims not long before. The classic French city was not
many miles from the present home of the group of American girls.
As beautiful almost in destruction as it had been in its former glory,
the photograph stood as a symbol of the imperishable beauty of French
art. Also it represented another symbol. Here on the white wooden mantel
of the French farm house "on the field of honor" it called to the
American people to continue their work for the relief and the
restoration of France.
Tonight as she lay resting upon one of the couches, dressed in a simple
dinner dress of some soft violet material, Mrs. Burton had glanced
several times toward the photograph.
As a tribute to her headache and a general disinclination to associate
with her companions, Sally had been permitted to occupy the other couch
which stood on the opposite side of the room.
In their one large chair, close to the table with the lamp, Aunt
Patricia sat knitting with her usual vigor and determination. Aside from
Sally, the Camp Fire girls were grouped about near her.
After having been quiet for the past half hour, Mrs. Burton suddenly
asked: "Would any of you care to hear a poem concerning the destruction
of the Cathedral at Rheims, written by a Kentucky woman? A friend sent
it to me and it was so exquisite I have lately memorized it. In the last
few moments while I have been looking at our photograph I have repeated
the lines to myself. I wonder if it would interest you?"
The girls replied in a chorus of acquiescence, but Mrs. Burton did not
venture to begin until she also had received a nod of agreement from
Aunt Patricia. Between the older and younger woman there was a bond of
strong affection. Nevertheless, mingled with Mrs. Burton's love and
respect, there was also a certain humorous appreciation.
Since their arrival in France the Camp Fire girls had been compelled to
spend their evenings in doors. This was unlike their former custom.
Recently, when they had grown weary of talking, perhaps for only a half
hour before bedtime, some one of them had fallen into the habit of
reading aloud to the others.
Apart from the pleasure, Mrs. Burton regarded this as useful education.
Not a great many newspapers and magazines reached the old farm house in
comparison with other days at camp; nevertheless they arrived in
sufficient number both from the United States and Paris to keep one
fairly in touch with world movements. The reading of the French papers
and magazines was of course especially good practice.
Yet, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Burton could seldom be persuaded to be
anything save a listener. After reading or talking the greater part of
the day to her new French friends, she was apt to be worn out by
evening.
Tonight she began to speak in a low voice as if she were tired, yet as
her little audience was so near it did not matter and her voice never
failed in its beautiful quality.
"Rheims
"It was a people's church--stout, plain folk they,
Wanting their own cathedral, not the king's
Nor prelate's, nor great noble's. On the walls,
On porch and arch and doorway--see, the saints
Have the plain people's faces. That sweet Virgin
Was young Marie, who lived around the corner,
And whom the sculptor knew. From time to time
He saw her at her work, or with her babe,
So gay, so dainty, smiling at the child.
That sturdy Peter--Peter of the keys--
He was old Jean, the Breton fisherman,
Who, somehow, made his way here from the coast
And lived here many years, yet kept withal
The look of the great sea and his great nets.
And John there, the beloved, was Etienne,
And good St. James was Francois--brothers they,
And had a small, clean bakeshop, where they sold
Bread, cakes and little pies. Well, so it went!
These were not Italy's saints, nor yet the gods,
Majestic, calm, unmoved, of ancient Greece.
No, they were only townsfolk, common people,
And graced a common church--that stood and stood
Through war and fire and pestilence, through ravage
Of time and kings and conquerors, till at last
The century dawned which promised common men
The things they long had hoped for!
O the time
Showed a fair face, was daughter of great Demos,
Flamboyant, bore a light, laughed loud and free,
And feared not any man--until--until--
There sprang a mailed figure from a throne,
Gorgeous, imperial, glowing--a monstrosity
Magnificent as death and as death terrible.
It walked these aisles and saw the humble ones,
Peter the fisherman, James and John, the shopkeepers,
And Mary, sweet, gay, innocent and poor.
Loud did it laugh and long. 'These peaceful folk!
What place have they in my great armed world?'
Then with its thunderbolts of fire it drove
These saints from out their places--breaking roof,
Wall, window, portal--and the great grave arch
Smoked with the awful funeral smoke of doom.
"Thus died they and their church--but from the wreck
Of fire and smoke and broken wood and stone
There rose a figure greater far than they--
Their Lord, who dwells within no house of hands;
Whose beauty hath no need of any form!
Out from the fire He passed, and round Him went
Marie and Jean and Etienne and Francois,
And they went singing, singing, through their France--
And Italy--and England--and the world!"
When Mrs. Burton began her recitation she sat up on the edge of her
couch and leaning forward kept her eyes fastened sometimes on the floor,
sometimes on the picture of the great cathedral. Now and then her gaze
quickly swept the faces of her audience.
She was wondering if the poem had bored any one of them. It was a long
poem and perhaps its spiritual meaning would not be altogether plain.
However, as the poem reached its conclusion, and her voice with its
dramatic power and sweetness made the picture of the peasant people and
their peasant church a visible and compelling thing, she no longer felt
fearful.
The faces of the girls before her were fine and serious; Bettina and
Marta, who cared more for poetry and art than the others, had flushed
and their eyes were filled with tears.
As Mrs. Burton finished, it was as if one could actually hear the new
spirit of brotherhood which Christ preached two thousand years ago,
"singing, singing, through the world."
Yet in the silence which was a fitting tribute to the poem, suddenly the
entire audience broke into a ripple of laughter. From the far side of
the room a gentle snore had been Sally Ashton's sole expression of
appreciation.
Following the sound of the laughter, Sally sat up and began blinking her
soft golden brown eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy kitten.
"I think you had far better give yourself up to justice and have someone
take care of you properly," she announced in a far-away voice. This was
the conclusion which Sally had just reached at the end of her
half-sleeping and half-waking dream of her runaway soldier.
She did not know that she was to make such an extraordinary remark
aloud, but fortunately no one had the faintest knowledge of her meaning.
Indeed, no one really heard her, as the girls were too amused over
Sally's characteristic habit of falling asleep on occasions when
conversation or entertainment bored her.
Immediately after the laughter, Sally, not understanding its cause,
nevertheless arose and began her journey to bed. She was annoyed but not
seriously, since in waking she had reached the conclusion she desired.
In the morning at dawn, before the other members of her household were
awake, she would make a second trip to the chateau.
She would carry provisions to the soldier and then advise him to leave
the neighborhood immediately. Unless he departed of his own free will,
taking his chances as he must, she then would be compelled to tell that
he was in hiding.