MAJOR d'ARTROT
One morning Major d'Artrot (där-trō) received a letter from an old
friend. It was a good friend: Madame Villard. Madame Villard wrote that
she expected to spend a night at the Major's inn.
A tiny tumbled farm was Major d'Artrot's Inn. Before the war it had been
his fine and prosperous home. But the Major had been obliged to turn his
home into a hotel. For the war had made him a poor man.
Fighting and scenes of horror had taken place on that peaceful farm. It
had been occupied by the Germans. Later a terrible battle, one of the
famous battles of the Argonne, had been fought there.
[Illustration: THE BLOODY TREE]
In the Major's garden stands the "Bloody Tree." The name is enough to
tell what happened beneath its tall branches. A pole with wires still
stands outside the Major's house. It is a telegraph pole raised by the
American soldiers during the war. When the war was over, people came to
see the Major's farm. People were curious, interested. There was the
cellar where some poor souls had lived for weeks, listening to the
booming of the battles in the woods near-by.
[Illustration: AMERICAN TELEGRAPH WIRES IN THE MAJOR'S GARDEN]
There were the German helmets captured during that last battle. There
were many, many reasons why travelers were drawn to Major d'Artrot's
farm. So Major d'Artrot turned his house into a hotel. One of his
dearest friends was Madame Villard. She had helped make life easier for
the Major and for his little brood.
During the long years following the death of her son, the Major had
tried to help the stricken mother in her search for her lost
granddaughter.
He had at last gathered for her the information that on that famous
march an old peasant had been seen with a baby. Some one had seen him.
But he had fallen on the weary march. They knew that.
But they did not know about the baby. Nobody could tell Madame Villard
what had happened to the baby.
To-day the Major received Madame Villard's letter.
"Poor Madame!" he sighed, as he finished reading. "She does not give up
hope, even through all these years."
And he thought of the little black figure which soon would step from the
big, glossy car. She would take what comfort this poor family could
provide. She would make happy the Major's children with gifts and toys.
Her simple room would be generously paid for.
Then Madame would leave them, and to the near-by cemetery she would go.
She would visit it, before starting the journey homeward to Paris and to
her little Margot. Usually these visits of Madame Villard occurred after
a tour of the country. Those tours took her into very many villages of
France, and always for the same purpose--always for a possible sign, a
tiny clue of her lost grandchild.
"Madame is here," called the Major's youngest. "The big bright car is
outside. See! Madame is coming in."
A flock of eager youngsters gathered about the little lady. She kissed
them all and then sat down in the coolness of the Major's hallway.
"I have traveled far," she told the Major, after they were settled
comfortably. The Major's children were outside in their arbor opening
wonderful packages.
The Major's children were not starved for play. True, Madame Villard
was the only one who gave them shop toys. But their playthings were the
brooks of the forest, the little farm animals, and sticks and stones.
[Illustration: MAJOR d'ARTROT AND HIS FAMILY]
Happy little d'Artrots! The Major did not worry because they were so
poor. They had plenty of time for play.
"Through Verdun (vĕr-dŭn´) and Reims (rēmz) and the valley of
the Meuse (mūz) I have traveled, dear Major d'Artrot," said Madame
Villard. "My travels have now become a habit. There is surely no more
hope. But on and on I go."
[Illustration: REIMS CATHEDRAL]
Major d'Artrot took her hand. "You must not say that, dear Madame," he
answered. "There is always hope. And remember what joy you bring with
your visits to us. We are always so glad to see you."
Madame thanked the Major and smiled.
"You are kind," she said. "I am always happy here with you and with
your little dear ones. But this time my visit is to be short. I must
leave for Paris to-morrow."
"So soon? That is a pity," the Major said.
"No," smiled Madame Villard. "My little Margot's birthday is coming
soon. I have promised to return and see to a very important part of her
celebration."
Madame Villard's eyes were now twinkling. "Can you guess what that very
important part might be for a young miss and her birthday?"
"No, I am afraid I do not know," the Major said.
"Well, dear Major, the young miss is to have a party frock which
Grandmother will give her. Now do you admit that is a most important
part of any young lady's birthday celebration?"
"Yes," laughed Major d'Artrot, "very important and serious!"
Then Major d'Artrot pulled a little card out of his pocket and showed it
to Madame.
"And since Mademoiselle (mȧd-mwȧ-zĕl´) Margot is to have a
beautiful frock," he said, "why do you not take her to this old friend
of mine who makes some of the loveliest frocks in Paris?"
Madame Villard read the card and then looked up at the Major
questioningly.
[Illustration: VERDUN]
He continued, "Suzanne Moreau lived in the village adjoining my farm
before that village was destroyed by the enemy. She was a demure little
dressmaker, and we knew her, my wife and I, as a kindly and lonely soul.
Now as you see by this card, she has established a fashionable
children's shop in your Paris. She is still a kindly, modest little
woman. Her whole life is centered in that small niece of hers, Jeanne,
who is called the 'Little Model.' Have you, perhaps, heard of her?"
[Illustration: THE MEUSE]
Madame Villard nodded and looked again at the card.
"Auntie Sue's Shop," she read.
"Yes, indeed," she answered, "I have heard. But Margot and I have never
been to the shop. Now since I know that they are friends of yours, we
will surely go."
"Ah, you are kind," said the Major. "Auntie Sue deserves what little one
can do to help. She is struggling alone and works very hard. I assure
you, dear Madame Villard, that she is a most deserving and honest
person."
"I believe that," smiled Madame, patting the Major's hand. "For to be a
friend of yours, one is obliged to be deserving, honest, and kind."