The Call to Service
On a ledge of rock with the Pacific Ocean as a background a girl was
standing, holding a bugle to her lips and with it sounding a clear,
musical call.
Not far off a number of persons were seated about a smouldering camp
fire. All day the sun had been hot, almost as a tropic sun, but now with
the coming of the late afternoon a cool breeze was blowing in from the
sea.
The feminine members of the little circle were knitting and sewing.
One of the two young men was holding a hank of wool, which a
brown-haired, brown-eyed girl was winding slowly and carefully into a
great ball. The other was lying full length on the ground looking toward
the water.
"Why is my Sister Peggy sounding taps or a reveille, since at present
it is neither morning nor night?" he questioned. "It seems impossible
these days to get away from the sights and sounds which suggest war. I
had hoped that when we were in camp out here in this far-away country we
might at least have a _little_ rest."
Billy Webster's manner was that of a spoiled and fretful boy;
nevertheless an uncomfortable silence followed his speech.
Ever it appears impossible in this world, even among a small group of
persons, to preserve entire harmony! In spite of his youth and his
fragility, in spite of his quiet voice and oftentimes gentle manner,
Billy Webster, from the time he ceased wearing dresses, had been able to
sow discord. The trouble was that Billy always refused to think like the
people surrounding him.
At present, when the entire Camp Fire party was interested heart and
soul in the successful carrying on of the war, Billy had announced
himself a pacifist. If he had contented himself with the mere
announcement, his friends and family would have accepted his point of
view with comparative equanimity. But with Billy the frequent
exposition of his opinions was as the breath of life.
At this moment Vera Lagerloff leaned over to say in a whisper:
"For goodness' sake, Billy, please don't start an argument now on the
subject of the war. You know how intensely Mrs. Burton disapproves of
your ideas and how angry you make Dan."
Peggy descended from her rocky platform at this instant and joined the
group. She was wearing her workaday Camp Fire costume and had her dark
hair braided in two braids with a red band about her forehead.
"What is it, Peggy? You look as if you had something important to
confide to us?" Mrs. Burton asked quickly, hoping to stem the flood of
eloquence with which her nephew ordinarily met opposition. "I confess I
am as curious as Billy to know why you sounded a bugle call at this hour
of the afternoon."
Peggy sat down in camp-fire fashion on the ground, frowning and looking
extremely serious. A bunch of pale lavender sea verbena she had gathered
nearer the shore, she dropped in her mother's lap.
She did not know what Billy had been saying, but she was conscious that
the atmosphere about her was uncomfortable.
Dan had not moved from his patient attitude, in order that Sally Ashton
might continue to unwind her wool, yet his expression was not like his
usual sweet-tempered one. Peggy at once surmised that Billy was in some
way responsible for the unrest.
"Perhaps my bugle call was a little theatrical," she began;
"nevertheless it was the call to service of our new order of 'Camp Fire
Minute Girls.'"
Mrs. Burton nodded. "Yes, I remember. The 'Camp Fire Minute Girls' are
to pledge themselves to help in winning the war by food conservation, by
praying for the triumph of the right, and by economizing in every
possible way. I received a little booklet containing our new pledge and
meant to speak of it to you."
In spite of the fact that Mrs. Burton was talking, she was not actually
interested in what she was saying at the moment. Somewhere in the last
row of her knitting she had dropped a stitch and while she spoke she was
endeavoring to find it. As head of their small Red Cross society, Mrs.
Webster was determined that their work should come up to the required
standard. Knitting was not a natural art with Mrs. Burton and she
particularly disliked unraveling her work after she supposed it
finished.
Peggy reached over and quietly removed the gray sweater from her aunt's
hands.
"You cannot pay attention to what anyone is saying and knit at the same
time, Tante; I have seen you make the attempt before," Peggy remarked
persuasively, "so please cease your efforts for a moment, as we have
something of the utmost importance to talk about. Bettina, now that I
have prepared the way, suppose you make things clearer. I have not your
gift of words."
"It is only that we have been talking of the 'Camp Fire Minute Girls'
and consider that we should follow the pledge very earnestly this
summer," Bettina began. "We feel that really we ought to organize our
camp fire on a new war basis. You have always been so generous to us,
but this summer we wish to use only the new war recipes and to save and
serve in every possible way. The advantage will be not only for the
present time, but perhaps later with our own families. Peggy and I
thought that we might even start a little garden near our camp, as
vegetables grow so quickly in California. I suppose our ideas of
helpfulness are rather vague and foolish, but that is why we wished to
talk the situation over with you and Mrs. Webster and arrange some
definite plan."
Mrs. Burton nodded. "An excellent idea, Bettina, and the sooner we
Americans learn some method of less extravagant living the nearer we are
to victory and the ending of the war. I wish I were a more apt pupil
myself. Of course I am willing to agree with whatever you girls think
best."
"Then we may help the soldiers in any way we like?" Sally Ashton
inquired with such unexpected enthusiasm that everybody laughed.
"I do not care for any too strikingly original ideas of first-aid
service, Sally," Mrs. Burton remonstrated.
Billy roused himself from his recumbent position and leaned forward. A
single flame which had shot up from the smouldering fire cast a glow
over his colorless face.
"I have been traveling with the Camp Fire party now for a good many
weeks," he remarked in the suspiciously gentle manner with which he
often began his verbal attacks, "and I am yet to hear one single word
about an immediate peace. I cannot see what difference it will make in
the end which country is victor. What the whole world must attain to is
justice for every human being. I thought women were supposed to be the
natural peace makers." Billy smiled--a malicious little smile which was
vaguely irritating. "Women never have been peace makers or peace lovers.
If they had do you suppose men would have continued fighting one another
forever?"
"But, Billy--" Mrs. Burton began and suddenly ceased. A glance at her
sister's face had been sufficient.
Besides, Dan Webster, released from his attention to Sally, had walked
over and stood facing his mother and brother.
The two brothers, though, twins, were utterly unlike in appearance. For
one thing, Dan was nearly six feet tall and splendidly built, with a
vivid color and a suggestion of unusual physical health and power.
"I am sorry, Mother," he said in the voice he kept especially for his
mother, "but I can't stay here and listen to Billy's nonsense and
disloyalty. He is simply in love with the sound of his own voice and
always has been. He has not the faintest understanding of the big things
he talks about. I have stood a good deal from Billy first and last from
the time we were children, because he was little and delicate and I was
not supposed to treat him as I would have treated other fellows. I tell
you candidly what Billy needs right now and what he always has needed is
to have his head punched. He always has taken refuge in his delicacy and
hidden behind women. He is doing the same thing now with all this peace
talk and half-baked socialism. I wonder how far socialism would have
traveled if men had never fought for their rights and the rights of
other people? I wish the socialists in this country would think of that
little fact now and then. I suppose if no one had ever _fought_ for
liberty, most of us would be slaves. But I seem to be talking as much as
Billy! It is only this, Mother, don't you see that Billy and I cannot
both remain with the Camp Fire party this summer? I don't wish it to
happen, but I am afraid if he goes on as he has been doing--and you know
nothing ever stops him--why, there will be trouble between us, that is
all. If you will only give your consent I am sure I can persuade father
to allow me to volunteer."
Mrs. Webster's eyes filled with tears. Dan was too interested in
watching his mother to pay any attention to Billy's good-natured drawl.
"Good old Dan, there is some truth in what you say, I suppose. There is
a little truth in most people's opinions. But what a story-book hero you
will make some day! It is all right, your rubbing it in about my not
being as strong as other fellows; I suppose you don't know that hurts a
little."
"My dear Dan, I did not dream you could be so unreasonable!" Mrs.
Webster returned, having finally gained sufficient control of her voice
to speak. "You know perfectly well I shall never give my consent to your
volunteering for any branch of the army until you have reached the draft
age. Moreover, if you have a difficulty with Billy you know how much
sorrow that means for me. Besides, your aunt and the girls and I need
you here with us at our camp fire this summer. If I could, I would send
Billy back to the farm instead of you, but he still needs the benefit of
this southern climate."
Poor Mrs. Webster, like many other mothers, often found her children too
great a problem for her solving.
By this time Billy was again prostrate on the earth with his eyes fixed
upon the sky and apparently perfectly serene. Even his mother's
statement in regard to sending him home had not disturbed him, although
he and his father chronically misunderstood each other.
Dan was repentant. "Sorry, Mother," he said; "this was not the time or
place for me to open this discussion with you. I am sure I beg
everybody's pardon."
Then he turned and walked away.