DAVID'S SHARE
ANOTHER June came with its roses and perfume, but there was no Feast of
Roses in Greenwald that June of 1918. Phoebe regretted the fact, for she
felt that even in a war-racked world, with the multiple duties and
anxiety and suffering of many of its people, there should still be time
for a service as beautiful and inspiring as the Feast of Roses.
But all thoughts of it or similar omissions were crowded into the
background one day when the news came to Mother Bab that David had been
wounded in France.
The official telegram flashed over the wire and in due time came a
letter with more satisfying details. The letter was characteristic of
David: "I suppose you heard that the Boche got me, but he didn't get all
of me, just one leg. What hurts me most is the fact that I didn't get a
few Huns first or do some real thing for the cause before I got knocked
out. I know you'll feel better satisfied if I tell you all about it.
Several of the other boys and I left the town where we were stationed
and went to Paris for a few days. It was our first pleasure trip since
we came to this side. We gazed upon the things we studied about in
school--Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and so forth. Later we went to a
railroad station where refugees were coming in, fleeing from the
invading Huns. I can't ever forget that sight! Women and children they
were, but such women and children! Women who had gone through hell and
children who had seen more horror in their few years that we can ever
dream possible. Terror and suffering have lodged shadows in their eyes
till one wonders if some of them will ever smile or laugh again. Many of
them were wounded and in need of medical care. They carried with them
their sole possessions, all of their belongings they could gather and
take with them as they rushed away from the hordes of the enemy
soldiers. We helped to place them into Red Cross vans to be taken to a
safe place in the southern part of the country. As we were putting them
into the vans the signal came that an air raid was on. The subways are
places for refuge during the raids, so we hurried them out of the vans
and into subways. They all got in safely but I was a bit too slow. I got
knocked out and my right leg was so badly splintered that I'm better off
without it. The thing worries me most is that I'll be sent home out of
the fight before I fairly got into it."
"Oh, Mother Bab," Phoebe said sobbingly, "his right leg's gone!"
"It might be worse. But--I wish I could be with him."
"But isn't it just like him," said Phoebe proudly, "to write as though
it was carelessness caused the accident, when we know he got others to
safety and never thought of himself. He was just as brave as the boys
who fight."
"Yes. There is still much to be thankful for. Many mothers will get
sadder news than mine. You must write him a long letter."
It was a long letter, indeed, that the mother dictated to her boy. When
it was written Phoebe added a little postscript, "David, I'm mighty
proud of you!" To this he responded, "Thank you for your pride in me,
but don't you go making a hero of me; I can't live up to that when I get
home. Guess I'll be sent back as soon as my leg is healed. Uncle Sam has
no need of me here since I bungled things and left a leg in Paris. I'll
have to do the rest of my bit on the farm. I wasn't a howling success as
a farmer when I had two legs, but perhaps my luck has turned. I'm going
to raise chickens and do my best to make the little farm a paying one."
"He's the same cheerful David," thought the girl, "and we'll have to
keep cheerful about it, too."
But it was no easy matter to continue steadfast in cheerfulness during
the long days of the summer. Phoebe and Mother Bab shared the anxiety of
many others as the news came that the armies of the enemy were pushing
nearer to Paris, nearer, and nearer, with the Americans and their allies
fighting like demons and contesting every inch of the ground. A fear
rose in Phoebe--what if the Germans should reach Paris, what if they
should win the war! "But it can't be!" she thought.
Her confidence was not unwarranted. Soon came the turn of the tide and
the German drive was checked. One July day shrieking whistles, frenzied
ringing of bells, impromptu parades and waving flags, spread the news
that "America's contemptible little army" was helping to push the
Germans back, back!
"It's the beginning of the end for the Germans," said Phoebe jubilantly
as she ran to Mother Bab with the news. "If they once start running
they'll sprint pretty lively. We'll have to tell David about the
excitement in town when the whistles blew--but, ach, I forgot! He won't
think that was much excitement after he's been in _real_ excitement."
Mother Bab laughed with the girl. "But we'll have lots to tell him when
he comes back," she said. "And won't he be glad I can see!"