The work which the American girls were to do for the French _Croix de
Rouge_ (Red Cross) was to be accomplished under entirely different
circumstances.
They traveled southeast nearly an entire day and toward evening were
driven through a thickly wooded country to the edge of the Forest of Le
Prêtre.
An American field hospital, an exact duplicate of those used in
America, had recently been presented to the French Government by
three Americans who desired that their identity be kept a secret. The
hospital was made up of twenty tents; six of them large enough to take
care of two hundred wounded men. And these hospital tents could be put
up in fifteen minutes and taken down in six by the American ambulance
volunteers, many of them students from Columbia, Harvard, Williams and
other American universities.
So it was thought fitting that the four American Red Cross girls, who
had lately offered their services to France, should assist in the
nursing at these new hospitals. They had been located in southern
France near the lines and just beyond the reach of the enemy’s guns.
Therefore it was self-evident that different living arrangements would
have to be made for the nurses. So Nona, Barbara, Mildred and even
Eugenia were unfeignedly glad when they learned that they were to live
together in a tiny French farmhouse within short walking distance of
the field hospital. There they were to do their own housekeeping, with
the assistance of an old man who would take charge of the outdoor work.
The farmhouse had been offered for their use by the French countess
who was the owner of an ancient chateau about a mile away. Indeed, the
farmhouse lay within the boundaries of her lands.
When the girls first tumbled out of the carriage they were too tired
to be more than half-way curious over their new abode. But half an hour
later they were investigating the entire place with delight.
This was because they had already rested and eaten a supper that would
have served for all the good little princesses in the fairy stories.
Naturally the girls had expected to find their little house empty. But
no sooner had they started up the cobblestone path to the blue front
door when an old man appeared on the threshold, bowing with the grace
of an eighteenth century courtier. He was only François, the old French
peasant who was to be of what service he could to them.
There in the clean-scrubbed dining room stood a round oak table set
with odd pieces of china, white and blue and gold, hundreds of years
old and more valuable than any but a connoisseur could appreciate.
François himself waited to serve supper. The Countess, whose servant
he had been for fifty years, had sent over the food--a pitcher of new
milk, a square of golden honey, _petit fromage_, which is a delicious
cream cheese that only the French can make, and a great bowl of wild
strawberries, which ripen in autumn in southern France. Besides this
there was a big loaf of snowy bread.
Barbara straightway threw her bonnet and coat aside. Then as she found
the first place at the table she exclaimed, “So this is what one has to
eat in France in war times!”
A few moments later Mildred took her place at what was hereafter to be
known as the head of the table, with Eugenia just across and Barbara
and Nona on either side. For so almost unconsciously the little family
of four girls arranged themselves. Although it was not until later that
Mildred Thornton was to prove the real authority in domestic matters,
while Eugenia continued to regard herself as intellectual head of
the family, with Nona and Barbara as talented but at times tiresome
children.
However, after thanks and good-byes were said to old François, the
girls started on their tour of the little house. Evidently it had
belonged to real farmer people who must have worked some of the land
of the countess. Doubtless the men had gone to war and the women found
employment elsewhere.
The farmhouse was only one story and a half high, with the kitchen
and dining room below, but above there were four small bedrooms with
a single window each and sloping ceilings. But the charming thing was
that the walls were of rough plaster painted in beautiful colors--one
rose, one blue, one yellow and the other lavender.
So the girls chose each the color she most loved--Barbara the blue,
Nona the pink, Mildred the lavender, and Eugenia, professing not to
care, the yellow.
It was just about dusk when they finally came outdoors again for a
better view of the house itself. They had scarcely done more than
glanced at it on entering.
The farmhouse was built of wood which had once been white but was now a
light gray with the most wonderful turquoise blue door and shutters.
Indeed, the girls were to find out later that the little place was
known in the neighborhood roundabout as “The House with the Blue Front
Door.”
But though the house was so delightful that the girls had almost
forgotten the sadness of their errand to the country, the landscape was
far less cheerful.
A row of poplar trees, already half stripped of their leaves, formed a
windbreak at one side of the house. Growing close on the farther side
were a dozen pine trees, suggesting gloomy sentinels left to guard the
deserted place.
There were no other houses in sight.
“I wonder where the chateau is?” Barbara asked a trifle wistfully. “I
suppose if our services are not required at the hospital at once we
might go in the morning to call on the Countess to thank her for her
kindness.”
Immediately Eugenia frowned upon the suggestion. She was a little
depressed by the neighborhood, now that evening was coming on, and she
still found it difficult to agree often with Barbara.
“Of course we shall do no such thing,” she answered curtly. “Exchanging
friendly visits with new and unknown neighbors may be a western custom,
but so far as I have been told it is assuredly not the custom in
France. Why, there are no such exclusive persons in the world as the
old French nobility, of which this countess is a member. Can’t you just
imagine what she would think of the forwardness of American girls if we
should intrude upon her in such a fashion?”
“Oh,” Barbara replied in a rather crestfallen voice as Nona put her
arm across her shoulder. Then they started into the house together. A
little later, however, she regained a part of her spirit, which Eugenia
and the coming of night had crushed.
“I wonder, Eugenia,” she inquired in the soft tones in which she was
most dangerous, “how you have learned so much concerning the customs of
the old French nobility. Was it because you were introduced to Captain
Castaigne the other day? I believe Lieutenant Hume said that he really
belonged to the aristocracy, but preferred not to use his title in
Republican France.”
Eugenia flushed and was about to answer curtly when Mildred Thornton
interposed good-naturedly:
“For goodness sakes, children, don’t quarrel on our first evening, or
you may bring us bad luck! Remember, we have got to prove that girls
can live and work together. But I don’t want to preach. Let’s go to bed
so we can get up early in the morning and unpack and get used to things
about the house. I have no doubt some one from the field hospital will
come over to tell us what they wish us to do. I am afraid I don’t
know much about housekeeping or cooking except for the sick, but I am
certainly going to try and learn.”
So the girls went in and each one lighted a candle and retired to her
own room.
When she was nearly asleep, however, Barbara was startled by a head
being thrust inside her door. Then by her flickering light she
discovered Eugenia’s face looking uncommonly handsome with two long
braids of dark hair framing her clear-cut features.
“Sorry I was so cross, Barbara,” she whispered. “You know, child,
sometimes I feel that I must have been born an old maid.”