It was a clear, crisp day in March with just a smell of Spring in the
air, when Cameron finally united with the church.
He had taken a long time to think about it. Quarantine had extended
itself away into February, and while his company had had its regular
drill and hard work, there had been no leave from camp, no going to
Y.M.C.A. huts, and no visiting canteens. They had been shut up to the
company of the members of their own barracks, and there were times when
that palled upon Cameron to a distressing degree. Once when it had snowed
for three days, and rained on the top of it, and a chill wind had swept
into the cracks and crannies of the barracks, and poured down from the
ventilators in the roofs. The old stoves were roaring their best to keep
up good cheer, and the men lay on their cots in rows talking; telling
their vile stories, one after another, each to sound bigger than the
last, some mere lads boasting of wild orgies, and all finally drifting
into a chat on a sort of philosophy of the lowest ideals. Cameron lay on
his cot trying to sleep, for he had been on guard all night, and a letter
from Ruth was in his inside pocket with a comfortable crackle, but the
talk that drifted about him penetrated even his army blankets when he
drew them up over his ears.
The fellows had arrived at a point where a young lad from Texas had
stated with a drawl that all girls were more or less bad; that this talk
of the high standards of womanhood was all bosh; that there was one
standard for men and women, yes, but it was man's standard, not woman's,
as was written sometimes. White womanhood! Bah! There was no such thing!
In vain Cameron stuffed the blanket about his ears, resolutely shut his
eyes and tried to sleep. His very blood boiled in his veins. The letter
in his pocket cried out to be exonerated from this wholesale blackening.
Suddenly Cameron flung the blanket from him and sprang to his feet with a
single motion, a tall soldier with a white flame of wrath in his face,
his eyes flashing with fire. They called him in friendly derision the
"Silent Corporal" because he kept so much to himself, but now he blazed
forth at them:
"You lie, Kelly! You know you do! The whole lot of you are liars! You
know that rot you've been talking isn't true. You know that it's to cover
up your own vile deeds and to excuse your own lustful passions that you
talk this way and try to persuade your hearts and consciences that you
are no worse than the girls you have dishonored! But it isn't so and you
know it! There _are_ good women! There always have been and there always
will be! You, every one of you, know at least one. You are dishonoring
your mothers and your sisters when you talk that way. You are worse than
the beasts you are going out to fight. That's the rotten stuff they are
teaching. They call it Kultur! You'll never win out against them if you
go in that spirit, for it's their spirit and nothing more. You've got to
go clean! If there's a God in heaven He's in this war, and it's got to be
a clean war! And you've got to begin by thinking differently of women or
you're just as bad as the Huns!"
With that he seized his poncho, stamped out into the storm, and tramped
for two hours with a driving sleet in his face, his thoughts a fury of
holy anger against unholy things, and back of it all the feeling that he
was the knight of true womanhood. She had sent him forth and no man in
his presence should defile the thought of her. It was during that tramp
that he had made up his mind to ally himself with God's people. Whether
it would do any good in the long run in his search for God or not,
whether he even was sure he believed in God or not, he would do that much
if he were permitted.
His interview with the minister had not made things much plainer. He had
been told that he would grow into things. That the church was the
shepherd-fold of the soul, that he would be nurtured and taught, that by
and by these doubts and fears would not trouble him. He did not quite see
it, how he was to be nurtured on the distant battlefield of France, but
it was a mystical thing, anyway, and he accepted the statement and let it
go at that. One thing that stuck in his heart and troubled him deeply was
the way the minister talked to him about love and fellowship with his
fellow men. As a general thing, Cameron had no trouble with his
companions in life, but there were one or two, notably Wainwright and a
young captain friend of his at camp, named Wurtz, toward whom his enmity
almost amounted to hatred.
He was not altogether sure that the ministers suggestion that he might
love the sinner and hate the sin would hold good with regard to
Wainwright; but there had been only a brief time before the communion
service and he had had to let the matter go. His soul was filled with a
holy uplifting as he stepped out from the pastor's study and followed
into the great church.
It had startled him just a little to find so many people there. In
contemplating this act of allying himself with God he had always thought
of it as being between himself and God, with perhaps the minister and an
elder or two. He sat down in the place indicated for him much disturbed
in spirit. It had always been an annoyance to him to be brought to the
notice of his fellow townsmen, and a man in uniform in these days was
more than ever an object of interest. His troubled gaze was downward
during the opening hymns and prayers. But when he came to stand and take
his vows he lifted his eyes, and there, off at one side where the seats
grouped in a sort of transept, he caught a glimpse of Ruth Macdonald
standing beside her tall Captain-cousin who was home for the day, and
there was a light in her eyes that steadied him and brought back the
solemnity of the moment once more. It thrilled him to think she was
there. He had not realized before that this must be her church. In fact,
he had not thought of it as being any church in particular, but as being
a part of the great church invisible to which all God's children
belonged. It had not occurred to him until that morning, either, that his
mother might be hurt that he had not chosen her church. But when he spoke
to her about it she shook her head and smiled. She was only glad of what
he was doing. There were no regrets. She was too broad minded to stop
about creeds. She was sitting there meekly over by the wall now, her
hands folded quietly in her lap, tears of joy in her eyes. She, too, had
seen Ruth Macdonald and was glad, but she wondered who the tall captain
by her side might be.
It happened that Cameron was the only person uniting by confession at
that time, for the quarantine had held him beyond the time the pastor had
spoken of when so many were joining, and he stood alone, tall and
handsome in his uniform, and answered in a clear, deep voice: "I do," "I
will!" as the vows were put upon him one by one. Every word he meant from
his heart, a longing for the God who alone could satisfy the longings of
his soul.
He thrilled with strange new enthusiasm as the congregation of church
members were finally called upon to rise and receive him into their
fellowship, and looking across he saw Ruth Macdonald again and his
beloved Captain La Rue standing together while everybody sang:
Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.
But when the bread and the wine had been partaken of, the solemn prayer
of dedication spoken, the beautiful service was over, and the rich tones
of the organ were swelling forth, he suddenly felt strange and shy among
all that crowd of people whom he knew by sight only. The elders and some
of the other men and women shook hands with him, and he was trying to
slip away and find his mother when a kindly hand was laid upon his
shoulder and there stood the captain with Ruth beside him, and a warm
hand shake of welcome into the church.
"I'm so glad," he said, "that you have taken this step. You will never
regret it, Cameron. It is good that we can be of the same company here if
we have failed in other ways." Then turning to Ruth he said:
"I didn't tell you, did I, Ruth, that I've failed in trying to get
Cameron transferred to my division? I did everything I could, but they've
turned down my application flatly. It seems like stupidity to me, for it
was just the place for which he was most fitted, but I guess it's because
he was too much of a man to stay in a quiet sector and do such work. If
he had been maimed or half blinded they might have considered him. They
need him in his present place, and I am the poorer for it."
There was a glow in Ruth's eyes as she put her hand in Cameron's and said
simply: "I'm glad you're one of us now," that warmed his heart with a
great gladness.
"I didn't know you were a member," he said wonderingly.
"Why, yes, I've been a member since I was fourteen," she said, and
suddenly he felt that he had indeed come into a holy and blessed
communion. If he had not yet found God, at least he was standing on the
same ground with one of his holy children.
That was the last time he got home before he sailed. Shipping quarantine
was put on his company the very next week, the camp was closed to
visitors, and all passes annulled. The word came that they would be going
over in a few days, but still they lingered, till the days grew into
three weeks, and the Spring was fully upon them in all its beauty,
touching even the bare camp with a fringe of greenness and a sprinkle of
wild bloom in the corners where the clearing had not been complete.
Added to his other disappointments, a direful change had taken place at
camp. The "peach of a captain" had been raised to the rank of major and
Captain Wurtz had been put in his place. It seemed as if nothing worse
could be.
The letters had been going back and forth rather often of late, and
Cameron had walked to the loneliest spot in the camp in the starlight and
had it out with himself. He knew now that Ruth Macdonald was the only
girl in all the world to him. He also knew that there was not a chance in
a thousand that he could ever be more to her than he now was. He knew
that the coming months held pain for him, and yet, he would not go back
and undo this beautiful friendship, no, not for all the pain that might
come. It was worth it, every bit.
He had hoped to get one more trip home, and she had wanted to see the
camp, had said that perhaps when the weather got warmer she might run
down some day with his mother, but now the quarantine was on and that was
out of the question. He walked alone to the places he would have liked to
show her, and then with a sigh went to the telephone office and waited
two hours till he got a connection through to her house, just to tell her
how sorry he was that he could not come up as he had expected and take
that ride with her that she had promised in her last letter. Somehow it
comforted him to hear her voice. She had asked if there would be no
lifting of the quarantine before they left, no opportunity to meet him
somewhere and say good-bye, and he promised that he would let her know if
any such chance came; but he had little hope, for company after company
were being sent away in the troop trains now, hour after hour, and he
might be taken any minute.
Then one day he called her up and told her that the next Saturday and
Sunday the camp was to be thrown open to visitors, and if she could come
down with his mother he would meet them at the Hostess' House and they
could spend the day together. Ruth promptly accepted the invitation and
promised to arrange it all with his mother and take the first train down
Saturday morning. After he had hung up the receiver and paid his bill he
walked away from the little telephone headquarters in a daze of joy. She
had promised to come! For one whole day he would have her to himself! She
was willing to come with his mother! Then as he passed the officers'
headquarters it occurred to him that perhaps she had other interests in
coming to camp than just to see him, and he frowned in the darkness and
his heart burned hot within him. What if they should meet Wainwright! How
the day would be spoiled!
With this trouble on his mind he went quite early in the morning down as
near to the little trolley station as he could get, for since the
quarantine had been put on no soldiers without a special pass were
allowed beyond a certain point, which was roped off about the trolley
station. Sadly, Cameron took his place in the front rank, and stood with
folded arms to wait. He knew he would have some time to stand before he
could look for his guests, but the crowd was always so great at the train
times that it was well to get a good place early. So he stood and thought
his sad thoughts, almost wishing he had not asked them to come, as he
realized more and more what unpleasantness might arise in case Wainwright
should find out who were his guests. He was sure that the lieutenant was
not above sending him away on a foolish errand, or getting him into a
humiliating situation before his friends.
As he stood thus going over the situation and trying to plan how he might
spirit his guests away to some pleasant spot where Wainwright would not
be likely to penetrate, he heard the pompous voice of the lieutenant
himself, and slipping behind a comrade turned his face away so that he
would not be recognized.
"Yes, I got special leave for three days!" proclaimed the satisfied
voice, and Cameron's heart bounded up so joyously that he would have
almost been willing then and there to put aside his vow not to salute
him, and throw his arms about his enemy. Going away for three days. That
meant two things! First that Wainwright would not have to be thought of
in making his plans, and second that they were evidently not going to
move before Wainwright got back. They surely would not have given him
leave if the company was to be sent away that day. A third exultant
thought followed; Wainwright was going home presumably to see Ruth and
Ruth would not be there! Perhaps, oh _perhaps_ he might be able to
persuade her and his mother to stay over Sunday! He hardly dared to hope,
however, for Ruth Macdonald might think it presumptuous in him to suggest
it, and again she might wish to go home to meet Wainwright. And, too,
where could they sleep if they did stay. It was hopeless, of course. They
would have to go back to Baltimore or to Washington for the night and
that would be a hard jaunt.
However, Ruth Macdonald had thought of such a possibility herself, and
when she and Mrs. Cameron stepped down from the Philadelphia train at the
small country station that had suddenly become an important point because
of the great camp that had sprung up within a stone's throw of it, she
looked around enquiringly at the little cottage homes in sight and said
to her companion:
"Would it be very dreadful in us to discover if there is some place here
where we could stay over night in case John's company does not go just
yet and we find we would be allowed to see him again on Sunday?"
She knew by the sudden lighting of the mother's wistful face that she had
read aright the sighs half stifled that she had heard on the train when
the mother had thought she was not noticing.
"Oh, do you suppose we could stay?" The voice was full of yearning.
"Well, we can find out, at least. Anyhow, I'm going in here to see
whether they would take us in case we could. It looks like a nice neat
place."
Ruth pulled open the gate, ran up the steps of the pleasant porch shaded
with climbing roses, and knocked timidly at the open door.
A broad, somewhat frowsy woman appeared and surveyed her coolly with that
apprising glance that a native often gives to a stranger; took in the
elegant simplicity of her quiet expensive gown and hat, lingering with a
jealous glance on the exquisite hand bag she carried, then replied
apathetically to Ruth's question:
"No, we're all full. We ain't got any room. You might try down to the
Salvation Army Hut. They got a few rooms down there. It's just been
built. They might take you in. It's down the road a piece, that green
building to the right. You can't miss it. You'll see the sign."
Ruth caught her breath, thanked her and hastened back to her companion.
Salvation Army! That was eccentric, queer, but it would be perfectly
respectable! Or would it? Would Aunt Rhoda disapprove very much? Somehow
the Salvation Army was associated in her mind with slums and drunkards.
But, at least, they might be able to direct her to a respectable place.
Mrs. Cameron, too, looked dubious. This having a society girl to
chaperone was new business for her. She had never thought much about it,
but somehow she would hardly have associated the Salvation Army with the
Macdonald family in any way. She paused and looked doubtfully at the
unpretentious little one-story building that stretched away capaciously
and unostentatiously from the grassy roadside.
"SALVATION ARMY" arose in bold inviting letters from the roof, and "Ice
Cold Lemonade" beckoned from a sign on the neat screen door. Ruth was a
bit excited.
"I'm going in!" she declared and stepped within the door, Mrs. Cameron
following half fearfully.
The room which they entered was long and clean and pleasant. Simple white
curtains draped the windows, many rush-bottomed big rocking chairs were
scattered about, a long desk or table ran along one side of the room with
writing materials, a piano stood open with music on its rack, and shelves
of books and magazines filled the front wall.
Beyond the piano were half a dozen little tables, white topped and ready
for a hungry guest. At the back a counter ran the width of the room, with
sandwiches and pies under glass covers, and a bright coffee urn steaming
suggestively at one end. Behind it through an open door was a view of the
kitchen, neat, handy, crude, but all quite clean, and through this door
stepped a sweet-faced woman, wiping her hands on her gingham apron and
coming toward them with a smile of welcome as if they were expected
guests. It was all so primitive, and yet there was something about it
that bore the dignity of refinement, and puzzled this girl from her
sheltered home. She was almost embarrassed to make her enquiry, but the
hearty response put her quite at her ease, as if she had asked a great
favor of another lady in a time of stress:
"I'm so sorry, but our rooms are all taken," the woman waved a slender
hand toward the long side of the room and Ruth noticed for the first time
that a low partition ran the length of the room at one side with doors.
Mechanically she counted them, eight of them, neat, gray-painted doors.
Could these be rooms? How interesting! She had a wild desire to see
inside them. Rooms! They were more like little stalls, for the partitions
did not reach all the way to the ceiling. A vision of her own spacious
apartment at home came floating in vague contrast. Then one of the doors
opposite her opened as its occupant, a quiet little elderly woman, came
out, and she had a brief glimpse of the white curtained window, the white
draped comfortable looking bed, a row of calico curtained hooks on the
wall, and a speck of a wash stand with tin pitcher and basin in the
corner, all as clean and new as the rest of the place. She swiftly
decided to stay here if there was any chance. Another look at the sweet
face of the presiding woman who was trying to make them understand how
crowded everything was, and how many mothers there were with sons who
were going that night or the next, and who wanted to be near them,
determined her. She was saying there was just a chance in case a certain
mother from Boston who had written her did not arrive at five o'clock:
"But we ought not to take a chance," said Cameron's mother, looking at
the eager faced girl with a cautious wistfulness. "What could we do if
night came and we had no place to stay?"
Ruth cast her eyes about.
"Couldn't we sit in a couple of those rocking chairs all night?" she
asked eagerly.
The Salvation Army woman laughed affectionately as if she had found a
kindred spirit:
"Why, dearie, I could give you a couple of cots out here in the dining
room if you didn't mind. I wouldn't have pillows, but I think I could get
you some blankets."
"Then we'll stay," said Ruth triumphantly before Mrs. Cameron could
protest, and went away feeling that she had a new friend in the wise
sweet Salvation Army woman. In five minutes more they were seated in the
trolley on their way into the camp.
"I'm afraid your people would not like you to stay in such a place,"
began Mrs. Cameron dubiously, though her eyes shone with a light that
belied her words.
"Nonsense!" said Ruth with a bewildering smile, "it is as clean as a pin
and I'm very much excited about staying there. It will be an adventure.
I've never known much about the Salvation Army before, except that they
are supposed to be very good people."
"There might be some rough characters----"
"Well, I guess they can't hurt us with that good woman around, and
anyhow, you're going to stay till your son goes!" laughingly declared
Ruth.
"Well, we'll see what John says," said his mother with a sigh, "I can't
let you do anything--questionable."
"Please, Mrs. Cameron," pleaded Ruth, "let us forget things like that
this trip and just have a happy time."
The mother smiled, sadly, wistfully, through a mist of tears. She could
not help thinking how wonderful it would have been if there had been no
war and her dear boy could have had this sweet wholesome girl for a
friend.