THE FIELD OF HONOR
Some little time afterwards, late on a March afternoon, the yard in
front of the farm house on the Aisne, chosen by the Camp Fire girls for
their temporary home in France, was occupied by a number of persons.
They had separated into groups and were either walking about the place
or else were seated in informal attitudes.
On the wooden steps leading directly down from the house two girls moved
aside to allow a woman and a man to pass them.
The woman was Miss Patricia, who appeared taller and more painfully
gaunt than ever, and moreover, was laying down the law upon some subject
in her usual didatic fashion. Yet the man whose arm was slipped through
hers was regarding her with devoted and amused affection. According to
Captain Richard Burton and in the opinion of a number of other persons,
Miss Patricia's good sense and devotion in the past few weeks had saved
his wife's life.
Miss Patricia was discussing with him the question of increasing the
number of cows upon the farm until a dairy could be run upon really
scientific principles. She desired a dairy sufficiently large to supply
milk to the nearby hospitals as well as to the babies in the villages.
Up to the present time she had been largely interested in preserving the
health of the young children who came within her sphere of effort. But
realizing that milk at present was one of the greatest needs in France
for the proper feeding of the wounded soldiers and of the convalescents,
Miss Patricia was arranging for the shipment of a herd of a hundred cows
from the United States. As a matter of fact, she was supposed to be
asking Captain Burton's advice upon the subject, though Miss Patricia's
method of asking advice was merely to announce what she intended doing.
After watching the two older persons disappear toward the barn, which
had been restored until it presented a very comfortable aspect, Peggy
Webster glanced up from her knitting to look earnestly at her companion.
"How long do you intend remaining in France to continue with the
reconstruction work, Vera?" she inquired.
Vera Lagerloff was sewing upon a dress for one of the children in the
neighborhood, since few of them had clothing enough to keep them warm
and comfortable in spite of all that was being done for them in the
reclamation districts by an increasing force of American women and
girls.
Vera's eyes followed the direction Miss Patricia's tall figure had just
taken.
"I intend to stay on indefinitely until the war is over and afterwards
if I feel I can be of more use here than anywhere else. A few days ago
Miss Patricia told me that she would be very glad to pay my expenses, as
she believed I was 'a laborer worthy of my hire.' What an extraordinary
woman she is and how much she seems to get out of life, if not for
herself, then certainly for other people! I shall never forget our first
meeting and the way in which she then took hold of the situation. I
think none of us will forget her recent devotion to Mrs. Burton. Any one
of us would have been willing to do what she did, only no one would have
had the courage or the intelligence."
Peggy nodded. "I have written mother pretty much the same thing you have
just said. Certainly no one of our family can ever pay our debt to Aunt
Patricia. Not that I should dare make the attempt!" Peggy added, smiling
and looking a little anxiously at the sock she was about to finish. "But
I wonder if I am envious of you, Vera, I mean of your planning to remain
over here so long? Mother and father have written they would like me to
come home as soon as I feel I am not especially needed and Tante has
entirely recovered. They wish her to return as well, but I am by no
means sure she will. There are moments of course when I am homesick and
feel it my duty to be with my own people, now that Billy is gone and Dan
has at last been permitted to volunteer. Then on the other hand, I
naturally want to be in France while Ralph is here fighting. Have I told
you that after Ralph's visit to us at the farm my family has consented
to our engagement. We have promised not to consider marrying until the
war is over. I am not speaking of this to any of the other Camp Fire
girls, Vera, only to you and Bettina. But I shall always think of you,
even if the future should separate us for a long time, as if you were
almost my sister. I suppose if Billy had lived you would have been my
sister."
In response Vera shook her head with its heavy mass of dark hair.
"I don't know, Peggy. I am not at all sure. I don't believe Billy's
friendship and mine were like that. Perhaps when he grew older he would
have wished to marry a prettier and more romantic girl, but always he
would have come back to me for criticism and praise. Yet I should never
have wished to marry any one else and now I shall never marry any one."
As there is no real answer to a speech of this character, Peggy Webster
made no reply. What Vera's future held in store for her was, according
to an ancient pagan expression, "in the lap of the gods."
But Peggy wrinkled her brows at this moment, making a little motion with
her hand to attract Vera's attention to the figure of a girl who was
standing alone about a dozen yards beyond them.
"Sally looks pretty, does she not, with her dark hair and white dress?
But of course nothing would induce her to confess that there is any
especial reason why she wishes to look particularly attractive this
afternoon. She is a funny child," Peggy concluded with the superior
manner of an engaged person.
This afternoon the Camp Fire girls were enjoying a half holiday and the
unusual celebration of afternoon tea in honor of Mrs. Burton's recovery
and also the arrival of the two guests whom they were now waiting out of
doors to greet.
Almost immediately after the reunion of Yvonne Fleury and her brother
they left the farm together, returning to the neighborhood of their own
chateau. Mrs. Burton's dangerous condition had made them feel it wiser
to add no more responsibility to the household. They also desired to
look up the old friends whom they might be able to find still living
near their former home.
Until this afternoon neither one of them had returned to the farm house
even for a brief visit, although of course many letters had been
exchanged between Yvonne and the other girls. Now Mary Gilchrist had
motored over to the nearest railroad station to meet them and Yvonne and
her brother, Lieutenant Fleury, were expected at any moment.
Ten minutes later, when the motor containing the two guests finally
arrived, Sally Ashton was the only one of the group of friends who did
not go forward to welcome the newcomers.
She did not believe that she particularly liked either of them and there
would be time enough to do her duty later.
As a matter of fact, Sally was about to slip around the side of the
house toward the kitchen to assist in the preparation of their simple
tea when Lieutenant Fleury followed her and as he called her by name she
felt obliged to stop and speak to him.
He looked extremely well as if he had entirely recovered from his
illness and was better looking than Sally would have dreamed possible.
"You do not seem enthusiastic about seeing me again?" Lieutenant Fleury
began, smiling at Sally.
"I am very glad to find you so well," Sally announced as she shook
hands. It was difficult to confuse Sally. She had a great deal of poise
of her own kind and a little superior air of detachment which was oddly
amusing.
"Yes, I am very well, thanks to you. Still I insist upon knowing why you
are not pleased to see me? I remember you snubbed me for suggesting that
we might develop a sisterly and brotherly affection for each other, but
now I have discovered Yvonne, won't you be friends? It is hard upon me
if you refuse to consent because my burden of gratitude to you must then
be all the heavier. I am going back to join my regiment in a few days.
Today I also came to warn Miss Lord and Captain Burton that there will
be danger later this spring if you insist upon remaining here at your
farm house. I cannot speak plainly, but I have reason to believe the
German drive will not be long delayed. The Allied line will hold; they
shall never break through, yet it might be wiser if you were out of the
range of any possible danger."
Without discussion of the question and disregarding the delightful
possibility of tea, Sally and Lieutenant Fleury were walking side by
side away from the farm house yard and toward the old chateau.
"You are very kind, Lieutenant Fleury," Sally answered, speaking more
gravely and with less childishness than one might have imagined, "but I
do not believe we will consent to leave our farm house and to give up
our work unless the war comes almost to our very door. Even then you
know food might be useful to the soldiers and I am an extremely good
cook."
Sally's seriousness had disappeared and she was more her accustomed
self.
"Yet you have not answered my question or promised to be my friend,"
Lieutenant Fleury argued, looking at his companion with an amused frown.
Undoubtedly it was difficult to understand any human being who could be
such a complete child at one moment and so wise the next; but perhaps
Sally embodied the Biblical idea that true wisdom is only found among
childish spirits.
As a matter of fact, Sally answered simply, "Why, of course I am your
friend, Lieutenant Fleury. Now when I am beginning to understand more of
what soldiers must endure, I feel as if I were a friend to every man in
our allied armies, although they probably are not aware of the honor,"
and again Sally dimpled in irresistible fashion.
Moreover, with this general acceptance of his friendship, Lieutenant
Fleury was obliged to appear content, since Sally would give him no more
satisfactory reply.
A few weeks later the long-heralded German drive burst with renewed fury
along a long line in France. How the group of American Camp Fire girls
met the unexpected dangers and demands upon their courage and resources
will be the subject of the next Camp Fire book.