EXCITING DAYS
The young people of America had few illusions when war was declared
in the spring of 1917. The war in Europe, with its hideous beginning
and terrible progress, was more or less familiar in detail. It was
no unknown adventure that our soldiers faced. Photographs or pen
pictures of the trenches and their horrors had been public since
that August of 1914. Ah, the gallant young Americans of 1917 and
1918! With smiles and jests, or with faces of deadly earnestness,
our boys sang and marched, or rode toward the thing that had to be
done. For a cause, and with a purpose, the youth of that generation
offered themselves. We have had some sickening revelations since the
war, but none that cast a shadow on the young generation that fought
our battles then.
“Lord God of hosts, be with us yet—
Lest we forget—lest we forget!”
No other days of romance or chivalry ever gave more of effort,
courage, and the sacrifice of all the human heart holds dear than
those days when America’s heart was in France, and her eyes
following a map with the advance of American forces.
Greycliff days went on as usual in the class-room, though war was
declared and the reading of the morning paper became one of the
exciting moments of the day. “When would the boys go?” was the
question of chief importance. Some time after the Glee Club concert,
Betty received a telephone message from Donald Hilton, asking if he
could see her in the afternoon after classes, or in the evening
before study hour. “It is very important,” said he. “Will Miss
Randolph permit me to call?”
“I’ll find out, Donald, and let you know. I think she will.”
Later Betty telephoned that Donald might come between dinner and
study hours, and at the appointed time he arrived, having cut short
his own meal to get to Greycliff in time, and being excused properly
at the academy. He met Betty in the hall, and they stood talking
there, while Alma took his card to Miss Randolph and returned with
it for Betty.
Donald was full of repressed excitement. “I had to come to see you,
Betty—before I take French leave of the school—in more senses than
one!”
“What!” exclaimed Betty. “You’re going to enlist now!”
“Yes,” replied Donald, “I’m going.”
“Do you mean without telling your folks?”
“Yes, without telling anybody but you.”
Betty was touched by his confidence, but said earnestly, “Donald,
don’t you do it! Go home first and see your father and mother and
sisters. You will regret it if you don’t.”
“If I tell them, they will try to keep me from going, or at least
until the end of the school year. Of course Mother would not give
her consent, anyway, even if Father were willing.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Betty. “And I think it would be
dreadful to go without saying goodbye.”
“Oh, I’d get off, probably, to say goodbye before I went to France.”
“You don’t know what might happen. Here is Alma. Thank you, Alma.
Come on, Donald, to the bench at the end of the hall. We’ll not be
interrupted there. The girls will be singing and playing in the
parlors.”
Donald and Betty walked to the end of the corridor, past the
reception rooms, to where a long, old-fashioned bench filled part of
an alcove, by the large windows which looked out upon the wood.
“Now,” said Betty, “tell me all about it.”
“I have to go, that’s all,” said Donald grimly. “I can’t study.
Nobody can at the academy. The commandant is as stirred up as
anybody, though he tries not to show it. We heard that he is trying
to get back in the regular army and go to France with the first
troops. Van Horne is going, and Maxwell, as soon as they can. They
are enlisting with the National Guard, and are only waiting to do it
till they can arrange about the school. They don’t want to leave the
commandant in the lurch. But there will be precious few of the older
boys left to teach, and school closes soon anyhow. They are going to
hurry up the work and Commencement, they say now. Some of the boys
say that the school will close, but nobody knows for sure. I’ll not
miss much.”
“Donald,” said Betty soberly, “I’d be the last one to say ‘don’t
go,’ but, honestly, I think that you might take time enough to write
home about it. Because you boys are full of patriotism—that isn’t
going to get you to France any sooner. And until the camps get
started, where could you get better military training than right
here in a military school?”
“That is so, Betty, but perhaps some of us can help in the training,
and we’d like to get into the real stuff!”
“I think that your mother will consent to your going, since you are
so nearly of age, and perhaps she would not care about your
finishing the school year, either. You see, my cousins from Canada
are in the war, and I know how my aunt feels. Please promise me to
write to your mother!”
Donald changed position, looked thoughtfully at Betty, and smiled as
he replied, “I think a good deal of your advice, but I must go.”
“It will not hinder your going. And even if you do go later without
the consent of your family, it will be different from not even
having written!” Thus persuaded Betty.
“If I wait, may I have a picture of you, Betty, to take with me?”
Betty flushed a little as she replied, “Why, yes, you may, if you
want one. If you come over again, I’ll bring down what I have, big
pictures and snapshots, and you can take your choice. You would want
a small picture, wouldn’t you?”
“I would,” said Donald, patting his left hand pocket, while Betty
blushed again. “All right, I’ll wait and write to mother, and will
you let me come over on Saturday afternoon to tell you the results?
And perhaps you could have the pictures ready, too. Will that do?”
“Of course it will do. I’m so glad, Donald! It will be much better.
Your mother will feel so much better about it.”
“Someway, Betty, I don’t feel in quite so much of a hurry to leave
when I’m with you,” said the frank Donald, “I’ll have one more good
Saturday afternoon with you, and perhaps, if it is not stormy, we
can have a boat ride. Can you get permission?”
“I’ll ask. There are the girls, Donald; look out of the window.”
Cathalina, Lilian and Hilary were passing, coming from the direction
of the little wood on the hill, and waved their field glasses gayly
as Betty tapped on the window.
“Did you say that Captain Van Horne is leaving soon? I wonder if
Cathalina knows.”
“He and Maxwell go as soon as possible. You see, they are right up
in military drill and discipline, and will make valuable officers.”
“Lilian and Cathalina haven’t heard from Philip, and Hilary hasn’t
heard from Campbell for days, and they are sure that there is some
reason—though both boys promised their parents that they would
finish the school year and get their diplomas. You see, they
graduate this year.”
“Oh, graduate! What is school in comparison with this?”
While Donald and Betty talked, the three girls who had passed came
down the hall, Cathalina with a telegram in her hand. “Do you
suppose they’ll care?” asked Lilian, thinking about how little she
and Philip would want to be interrupted when time together was so
short.
“Of course, they won’t,” said Cathalina, “for we’ll not stay but a
minute. Donald will be interested, I think. Excuse me, people,” she
continued, as they joined Betty and Donald, “but I have just
received a telegram from Philip, and Lilian has another one. Hilary
had one from Campbell, too, and they are coming on to see us
Saturday!”
The girls had all greeted Donald, Cathalina with a bow as she spoke,
while Donald had risen and brought up a chair or two to face the
bench.
“Some more folks going to war,” remarked Donald.
“Yes, that must be it,” assented Cathalina. “These telegrams are all
from New York, and it is not vacation. I imagine that they have
gotten permission to leave school and are going to enlist.”
“I am sure of it,” said Lilian. “Phil’s last letter was chiefly a
protest against his promise.”
“Campbell wrote that he was released from his,” said Hilary. “His
mother said that ordinarily education was the most important thing
for young people. But when a boy was of age and felt it his duty to
go, he should not be bound by a promise.”
“Some of us who are not of age want to go,” said Donald, “and if you
are interested, I’ll tell you what a time we are having at the
school.” At Donald’s urging, the girls sat down, while Donald
related the latest news and hearsay at the academy, and Cathalina’s
rather sinking heart was encouraged when she learned that the young
captain whom she admired so much was not leaving without time for a
word of farewell for her before he left. Would he come over to see
her? was the question in her mind. The study bell rang while they
talked, and all the girls walked along with Betty and Donald toward
the entrance, leaving them there to make their adieux, while they
went on up to Lakeview Suite.
It was not long before Betty joined the other girls and sat down in
their midst, finding them with no idea of studying. Lilian was lying
on the couch which made the window-seat. Hilary was sitting with
both elbows on the study table, and Cathalina was in a rocking
chair, facing her. “Look here, Betty,” said Lilian, and as Betty
went over toward her she held out her left hand, on which the
diamond of her engagement ring sparkled. “Mother sent it to me.
Wasn’t it dear of her! It will make things easier when Philip comes.
But it makes me sick about everything. We were going to have such a
wonderful time this summer!” Lilian closed her eyes and put her hand
over them. The ring flashed as it caught the light from the electric
lamp on the table, but Hilary switched it off as she noticed Lilian,
remarking that as nobody was going to study right away they would
not need it.
“Cheer up, Lil,” said Betty. “We don’t know much of what is coming,
I guess, but it doesn’t help any to look ahead. Maybe some of the
things won’t happen at all.”
“We were all going to the sea-shore together,” said Cathalina, “but,
of course, Father has been telling us that this was coming.”
“Yes, it isn’t as if we had not been thinking of it,” said Hilary,
“and I don’t see how we can help anything by worrying. We’ve got to
stand by the boys. Let’s get to work at those lessons pretty soon.”
“All right,” said Lilian, jumping up. “Cathalina and I telegraphed
right back to Philip, and Hilary to Campbell, so there’s no need of
letters. They’ll be here almost before we could get one to them. By
the way, Betty, there was a letter for you. We brought it up. It is
on your side of the dresser. I forgot it. We stopped and got our
mail, and there was this ring for me, so I promptly forgot
everything else!”
Betty ran into the bedroom and, turning on the light there, sat down
on the bed to read her letter. Then out she came, the letter in her
hand. “More news,” said she. “My brother’s enlisted.”
At that moment there was a rap, and Isabel came in, also holding a
letter and looking somewhat disappointed. She began to laugh as soon
as she was fairly settled, however, and began to tell the girls why.
“Did you ever see such an old goose as I am!” she exclaimed. “Here I
wrote to Jim, all excited, for fear the boys were going to France
next week or something, and now that Jim has written they aren’t I’m
disappointed!”
“They aren’t at a military school, are they?” asked Betty.
“No. Jim wrote that he and father had made too much of an effort to
help the boys through school for them to miss the rest of the school
year; so they will finish. And Jim said that according to the
statements of the government, the draft was going to be just as
honorable, since they can only equip and send over a certain number
anyhow; so there was no use in getting stampeded and throwing away
the education you might be getting. Listen to this: ‘Don’t worry,
little sister. They are not going right over, because the government
probably can’t use them now and isn’t ready to train them yet. But
remember that we are as patriotic as anybody and when the time comes
we’ll all be there, and I hope to go, too.’ Poor Jim, with a family
on his hands. Father isn’t a bit well since Christmas.”
“We have just decided, Isabel, that we are going right on with our
lessons as well as our limited brains will let us, keep steady, and
hope that we can help the boys, and do whatever turns up. It’s all
so mixed up now, with things happening all the time.”
“I think that is very sensible, Betty,” replied Isabel. “I’m going
back to begin now. But I couldn’t resist telling you girls.”
“You must let us tell you our news before you go,” said Lilian, “and
I want you to see my ring. Mother is going to let me wear it now.”
“Oh, Lilian, are you really _engaged?_”
“I really am. It happened at Christmas, but Mother thought that she
would prefer my not wearing a ring or announcing it generally. But I
suppose she didn’t have the heart to keep me from wearing it when
Phil came home to enlist. She likes him so much, and he is really so
irresistible!”
The girls smiled at that, and Cathalina said: “The ring came in the
evening mail.”
“My, but it is a beauty!” exclaimed Isabel, turning Lilian’s little
fist this way and that to catch the light of the flashing gem, for
the darkness had come outside, and their lamp was again burning.
The eventful Saturday finally came. The girls had arranged a little
picnic as the best way of getting away from the busy surroundings at
Greycliff Hall. Hilary had thought of it, and suggested that they
take the horses. “We have never had a picnic like that,” said she,
“and those prancing steeds need some exercise, anyway. Philip and
Campbell ride beautifully, and, of course, Donald and Captain Van
Horne do, too.”
“Captain Van Horne!” exclaimed Cathalina. “Do you expect me to
invite him to take me out?”
“No, of course not, but Donald can ask him if he wants to go and
there isn’t any doubt whom he would ask to go with him, is there?”
Hilary looked at Cathalina with twinkling eyes.
“Oh!” said Cathalina.
Captain Van Horne came over himself to ask Cathalina. She
telegraphed in time to Philip for both guests to bring “riding
togs,” and asked Miss Randolph if they might carry out the idea.
Miss Randolph consented, appointed Patricia West and Dr. Norris as
chaperones, and said that one of the grooms should accompany the
party.
“She was just as interested,” said Cathalina. “I believe that she
wants to see Philip and Campbell!”
“Why shouldn’t she?” asked Hilary and Lilian at once.
“We’d better have Prince and Pepper for the boys, don’t you think?”
continued Cathalina. “They have the most _style_.”
“They are the prettiest horses we have,” assented Lilian, “but I
don’t know that I’d call them stylish, exactly. But don’t get Poky,
whatever you do.”
“We may have to take whatever they give us,” said Hilary.
“Well, I’m going to see the riding master,” said Cathalina, “and
explain that we want the nicest horses they have.”
“Donald and Captain Van Horne will bring their own horses, won’t
they?” asked Hilary.
“Oh, yes,” replied Betty. “And Donald said that he and Captain Van
Horne thought it would be better to take our dinner at Greycliff
Village or wherever we are, instead of packing any lunch.”
“I know that Phil and Campbell will prefer it,” said Cathalina.
Some of the people at Greycliff Heights were much impressed by the
arrival of what Hilary called, quoting from her Cæsar, “two youths
of culture and valor,” at Greycliff Inn. Philip had brought Louis
along to look after everything. “My last trip with a valet,” he told
Lilian. “Louis and I are going to enlist together.”
The train came in early Saturday morning, and the boys wasted no
time after breakfast, but telephoned to Greycliff Hall and later
took a taxi out there. Miss Randolph invited them to stay for lunch,
and while the two young men rather disliked the idea of lunching
with so many fair damsels, they accepted for the sake of Cathalina,
Lilian and Hilary, who were not averse to having the girls see them.
“I’m so proud of you,” whispered Cathalina on one side of Philip, as
they sat at Miss Randolph’s table.
After lunch, the two guests went back to the village to get ready
for the trip, and the groom took over the horses. It was a sunshiny,
cloudless day, a fresh breeze blowing from the lake, the birds
singing, the fields green, and the picnic party as happy as could
be.
“I’m going to take the advice of the poet,” said Philip, “and
‘gather rosebuds while I may.’ Let’s have this day to remember,
Lilian.”
The rest were in the same mood. They followed the bridle path
through the woods along the lake, toward Greycliff Village, then, by
a little country road, took a gallop over the hills in another
direction. The groom knew all the roads and directed them to the
most attractive parts of the country. A great part of the time, the
young people jogged along in pairs, saying part of the many things
they had to say to each other in the time that seemed so short. In
one lovely spot they all dismounted and strolled about, sat on logs
or stumps, or picked the wild flowers, for nearly an hour. Hilary
had swung her field glasses about her neck, and she and Campbell
made up her list of spring birds, with many new ones.
Donald had, as usual, much to relate to Betty. He pinned violets on
his “pansy girl,” although she declared that flowers were not
appropriate to a riding habit. “I’m surely glad that I took your
advice, Betty,” said he. “I would not have missed this picnic and
ride for the world. And when Father and Mother and both the girls
wrote me the fine letters they did, I was ashamed of thinking that I
would go off without telling them. It is going to be all right.
Father asked me, if I felt I could, to wait and see when the school
would close, since I had told him that it might close earlier. He
would very much like me to finish the year and get my credits and
come home to see them. Then if I want to enlist, all right; and he
said that he would not forbid my doing it at any time. But it is
only a little while to wait, so I’ll do what they want me to.”
“I’m so relieved,” sighed Betty.
“On their account, I suppose,” said Donald, pulling down his mouth
at the corners, in pretended resignation.
“On my own, too,” said Betty, laughing, and jumping up from the
stump where they had been sitting, to run to her horse. “They are
going. Didn’t you hear Miss West’s whistle blow? She has one of
those referee whistles along.”
“What kind of a whistle?” laughed Donald.
“One that the referees blow when we have basket ball or anything.”
Philip had asked to be the host at Greycliff Inn, where the party
had dinner. The village was enough of a country town to be able to
furnish the finest of foods, if it lacked some of the city ideas.
The inn was a new place, clean and quiet, with pleasant parlors,
where they visited until called to dinner, ordered beforehand by
Philip. Here the visiting was general. As Captain Van Horne and Dr.
Norris were nearly of an age, Cathalina found herself drawn into
conversation with them, and discussing, as she told the girls
afterward, “things she didn’t know anything about.”
Then came the canter home in the twilight. Philip and Campbell were
to stay over Sunday, leaving early Monday morning. Captain Van Horne
was leaving, with Lieutenant Maxwell, very shortly, but expected to
visit Greycliff before that time. Captain Van Horne confirmed the
rumor that the military school was to close earlier than the time
noted in the catalogue. Donald announced to Betty that he was coming
over to Greycliff every time he could get off until he left for
home—with her permission.
“You have a standing invitation,” replied Betty, “and I think that
Miss Randolph will be good to all our ‘departing heroes’!”
Lilian and Philip, though they had the best horses, lagged behind
the rest, till Cathalina had to gallop back and tell them to hurry
if they were to get in by the study bell, as directed. And just as
they entered the grounds it rang.