XV

She was awakened by the rattling of the pots and pans in the tiny

kitchen. She sat up startled and looked about her. It was very early. The

first sunlight was streaming redly through the window screens, and the

freshness of the morning was everywhere, for all the windows were wide

open. The stillness of the country, broken only by the joyous chorus of

the birds, struck her as a wonderful thing. She lay down again and closed

her eyes to listen. Music with the scent of clover! The cheery little

home noises in the kitchen seemed a pleasant background for the peace of

the Sabbath morning. It was so new and strange. Then came the thought of

camp and the anticipation of the day, with the sharp pang at the memory

that perhaps even now Cameron was gone. Orders were so uncertain. In the

army a man must be ready to move at a moment's notice. What if while she

slept he had passed by on one of those terrible troop trains!

She sat up again and began to put her hair into order and make herself

presentable. He had promised that if such a thing as a sudden move should

occur he would throw out an old envelope with his name written on it as

they passed by the hut, and she meant to go out to that railroad track

and make a thorough search before the general public were up.

Mrs. Cameron was still sleeping soundly, one work-worn hand partly

shading her face. Ruth knew instinctively that she must have been weeping

in the night. In the early morning dawn she drooped on the hard little

cot in a crumpled heap, and the girl's heart ached for her sorrow.

Ruth stole into the kitchen to ask for water to wash her face:

"I'm sorry," said the pleasant-faced woman who was making coffee and

frying bacon, "but the wash basins are all gone; we've had so many folks

come in. But you can have this pail. I just got this water for myself and

I'll let you have it and I'll get some more. You see, the water pipes

aren't put in the building yet and we have to go down the road quite a

piece to get any. This is all there was left last night."

She handed Ruth a two-gallon galvanized tin bucket containing a couple of

inches of water, obviously clean, and added a brief towel to the toilet

arrangements.

Ruth beat a hasty retreat back to the shelter of the piano with her

collection, fearing lest mirth would get the better of her. She could not

help thinking how her aunt would look if she could see her washing her

face in this pittance of water in the bottom of the great big bucket.

But Ruth Macdonald was adaptable in spite of her upbringing. She managed

to make a most pleasing toilet in spite of the paucity of water, and then

went back to the kitchen with the bucket.

"If you will show me where you get the water I'll go for some more," she

offered, anxious for an excuse to get out and explore the track.

The woman in the kitchen was not abashed at the offer. She accepted the

suggestion as a matter of course, taking for granted the same helpful

spirit that seemed to pervade all the people around the place. It did not

seem to strike her as anything strange that this young woman should be

willing to go for water. She was not giving attention to details like

clothes and handbags, and neither wealth nor social station belonged to

her scheme of life. So she smilingly gave the directions to the pump and

went on breaking nice brown eggs into a big yellow bowl. Ruth wished she

could stay and watch, it looked so interesting.

She took the pail and slipped out the back door, but before she went in

search of water she hurried down to the railroad track and scanned it for

several rods either way, carefully examining each bit of paper, her

breath held in suspense as she turned over an envelope or scrap of paper,

lest it might bear his name. At last with a glad look backward to be sure

she had missed nothing, she hurried up the bank and took her way down the

grassy path toward the pump, satisfied that Cameron had not yet left the

camp.

It was a lovely summer morning, and the quietness of the country struck

her as never before. The wild roses shimmered along the roadside in the

early sun, and bees and butterflies were busy about their own affairs. It

seemed such a lovely world if it only had not been for _war_. How could

God bear it! She lifted her eyes to the deep blue of the sky, where

little clouds floated lazily, like lovely aviators out for pleasure. Was

God up there? If she might only find Him. What did it all mean, anyway?

Did He really care for individuals?

It was all such a new experience, the village pump, and the few early

stragglers watching her curiously from the station platform. A couple of

grave soldiers hurried by, and the pang of what was to come shot through

her heart. The thought of the day was full of mingled joy and sorrow.

They ate a simple little breakfast, good coffee, toast and fried eggs.

Ruth wondered why it tasted so good amid such primitive surroundings; yet

everything was so clean and tidy, though coarse and plain. When they went

to pay their bill the proprietor said their beds would be only

twenty-five cents apiece because they had had no pillow. If they had had

a pillow he would have had to charge them fifty cents. The food was

fabulously cheap. They looked around and wondered how it could be done.

It was obvious that no tips would be received, and that money was no

consideration. In fact, the man told them his orders were merely to pay

expenses. He gave them a parting word of good cheer, and promised to try

and make them more comfortable if they wanted to return that night, and

so they started out for camp. Ruth was silent and thoughtful. She was

wishing she had had the boldness to ask this quaint Christian man some of

the questions that troubled her. He looked as if he knew God, and she

felt as if he might be able to make some things plain to her. But her

life had been so hedged about by conventionalities that it seemed an

impossible thing to her to open her lips on the subject to any living

being--unless it might be to John Cameron. It was queer how they two had

grown together in the last few months. Why could they not have known one

another before?

Then there came a vision of what her aunt might have thought, and

possible objections that might have come up if they had been intimate

friends earlier. In fact, that, too, seemed practically to have been an

impossibility. How had the war torn away the veil from foolish laws of

social rank and station! Never again could she submit to much of the

system that had been the foundation of her life so far. Somehow she must

find a way to tear her spirit free from things that were not real. The

thought of the social activities that would face her at home under the

guise of patriotism turned her soul sick with loathing. When she went

back home after he was gone she would find a way to do something real in

the world that would make for righteousness and peace somehow. Knitting

and dancing with lonesome soldiers did not satisfy her.

That was a wonderful day and they made the most of every hour, realizing

that it would probably be the last day they had together for many a long

month or year.

In the morning they stepped into the great auditorium and attended a

Y.M.C.A. service for an hour, but their hearts were so full, and they all

felt so keenly that this day was to be the real farewell, and they could

not spare a moment of it, that presently they slipped away to the quiet

of the woods once more, for it was hard to listen to the music and keep

the tears back. Mrs. Cameron especially found it impossible to keep her

composure.

Sunday afternoon she went into the Hostess' House to lie down in the rest

room for a few minutes, and sent the two young people off for a walk by

themselves.

Cameron took Ruth to the log in the woods and showed her his little

Testament and the covenant he had signed. Then they opened their hearts

together about the eternal things of life; shyly, at first, and then with

the assurance that sympathy brings. Cameron told her that he was trying

to find God, and Ruth told him about their experiences the night before.

She also shyly promised that she would pray for him, although she had

seldom until lately done very much real praying for herself.

It was a beautiful hour wherein they travelled miles in their friendship;

an hour in which their souls came close while they sat on the log under

the trees with long silences in the intervals of their talk.

It was whispered at the barracks that evening at five when Cameron went

back for "Retreat" that this was the last night. They would move in the

morning surely, perhaps before. He hurried back to the Hostess' House

where he had left his guests to order the supper for all, feeling that he

must make the most of every minute.

Passing the officers' headquarters he heard the raucous laugh of

Wainwright, and caught a glimpse of his fat head and neck through a

window. His heart sank! Wainwright was back! Then he had been sent for,

and they must be going that night!

He fled to the Hostess' House and was silent and distraught as he ate his

supper. Suppose Wainwright should come in while they were there and see

Ruth and spoil those last few minutes together? The thought was

unbearable.

Nobody wanted much supper and they wandered outside in the soft evening

air. There was a hushed sorrow over everything. Even the roughest

soldiers were not ashamed of tears. Little faded mothers clung to big

burly sons, and their sons smoothed their gray hair awkwardly and were

not ashamed. A pair of lovers sat at the foot of a tree hand in hand and

no one looked at them, except in sympathy. There were partings

everywhere. A few wives with little children in their arms were writing

down hurried directions and receiving a bit of money; but most desolate

of all was the row of lads lined up near the station whose friends were

gone, or had not come at all, and who had to stand and endure the woe of

others.

"Couldn't we _walk_ out of camp?" asked Ruth suddenly. "Must we go on

that awful trolley? Last night everybody was weeping. I wanted to weep,

too. It is only a few steps from the end of camp to our quarters. Or is

it too far for you, Mrs. Cameron?"

"Nothing is too far to-night so I may be with my boy one hour longer."

"Then we must start at once," said Cameron, "there is barely time to

reach the outskirts before the hour when all visitors must be out of

camp. It is over three miles, mother."

"I can walk it if Ruth can," said the mother smiling bravely.

He drew an arm of each within his own and started off, glad to be out of

Wainwright's neighborhood, gladder still to have a little longer with

those he loved.

Out through the deserted streets they passed, where empty barracks were

being prepared for the next draft men; past the Tank Headquarters and the

colored barracks, the storehouses and more barracks just emptied that

afternoon into troop trains; out beyond the great laundry and on up the

cinder road to the top of the hill and the end of the way.

There at last, in sight of the Military Police, pacing back and forth at

the entrance to camp, with the twinkling lights of the village beyond,

and the long wooded road winding back to camp, they paused to say

good-bye. The cinder path and the woods at its edge made a blot of

greenish black against a brilliant stormy sky. The sun was setting like a

ball of fire behind the trees, and some strange freak of its rays formed

a golden cross resting back against the clouds, its base buried among the

woods, its cross bar rising brilliant against the black of a thunder

cloud.

"Look!" said Ruth, "it is an omen!" They looked and a great wonder and

awe came upon them. The Cross!

Cameron looked back and then down at her and smiled.

"It will lead you safely home," she said softly and laid her hand in his.

He held her fingers close for an instant and his eyes dared some of the

things his lips would never have spoken now even if they two had been

alone.

The Military Police stepped up:

"You don't have to stay out here to say good-bye. You can come into the

station right here and sit down. Or if your friends are going to the

village you may go with them, Comrade. I can trust you to come back right

away."

"I thank you!" Cameron said. "That is the kindest thing that has happened

to me at this camp. I wish I could avail myself of it, but I have barely

time to get back to the barracks within the hour given me. Perhaps--" and

he glanced anxiously across the road toward the village. "Could you just

keep an eye out that my ladies reach the Salvation Army Hut all right?"

"Sure!" said the big soldier heartily, "I'll go myself. I'm just going

off duty and I'll see them safe to the door."

He stepped a little away and gave an order to his men, and so they said

good-bye and watched Cameron go down the road into the sunset with the

golden cross blazing above him as he walked lower and lower down the hill

into the shadow of the dark woods and the thunder cloud. But brightly the

cross shone above him as long as they could see, and just before he

stepped into the darkness where the road turned he paused, waved his hat,

and so passed on out of their sight.