GIVING HER BEST
“As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.”
Nathalie sat in the big rocker on the veranda, sewing a star on a
service-flag. Yes, as soon as Dick had gone to do his “stunt,” as he
called it, in the great warfare,—gone with all the honors of war, as
his mother had laughingly declared as he kissed them a noisy
good-by,—Nathalie had felt that it was incumbent upon her to sustain
the honor of the family, and had run lightly up to the attic. Here, in
the big piece-trunk she found a bundle of Turkey red, a bit of white,
and then, after begging a snip of blue from Helen for the star, she had
set to work.
She was sure that star would not come off, for she had double-stitched
into every angle and on every point. She held up the patriotic square,
bordered with red, and sorrowfully stared at that one lone star,
although a thrill of pride stirred at her heart and caused her eyes to
beam.
She must hang it up. And then she was busy tacking the little flag to a
small staff, which she had fastened to the roof of the porch so it could
be seen. Ah, the wind had caught it, and it was waving in a salute to
its many mates curling from the neighboring porches, and to the Red
Cross insignias that starred a window here and there, ofttimes
overshadowed by the graceful sweep of the Stars and Stripes.
But Nathalie’s heart was still sore, for although she had given up Dick
with as good a grace as she could muster, and had tried to show that she
possessed the true American spirit, yet it did seem as if it was a
needless sacrifice. With a sudden turn on her heel, the girl burst into
a new patriotic air that she had heard somewhere, as if hoping that it
would drive away the rebellious thoughts that jarred her attempt at
cheer, and hurried into the kitchen.
As Nathalie stepped to the window and stared carelessly out, her eyes
were caught by the gleam of yellow crocus and purple hyacinth as they
peeped up at her from their beds of green. Somehow their flaunting
colors reminded her of the spring blooms that used to nod so gayly to
her from the flower-beds in her beautiful city home in the upper part of
New York.
She could hardly believe it was a year since her father’s death. The
poignant grief she had suffered then again caused her eyes to fill with
tears, and her mind dwelt upon the sorrowful circumstances surrounding
her loss, the changes that had followed, in their financial losses, and
the many sacrifices it had entailed.
She again saw the sorrowful farewell to the first and only home she had
ever known; she again felt the grief that came to her in the giving up
of the many things that had made life so happy,—her schoolmates, her
many enjoyments, and her hope of going to college. She again experienced
the dolefulness that had assailed her mother, her brother Dick, her
younger sister, Dorothy, and herself, on their coming to the humble
cottage home in Westport, the being associated with strangers, and the
many people who at first had seemed so different from their city
associates.
Yes, there was the tree where she had found the nest of bluebirds. The
girl’s eyes gleamed amusedly as she peered down the garden at the old
cedar tree, and remembered that she had called them blue robins, thus
giving Dick an opportunity to nickname her, Blue Robin.
Nathalie attempted to smile, but the thought of Dick’s going away
aroused her slumbering grief, and once more the tears flowed silently
down her cheeks. But she bravely brushed them away and went on with her
reminiscences,—the remembrance of spraining her ankle up in the woods,
and how it had led to her meeting Helen Dame, her next-door neighbor,
and _now_ her dearest friend.
How lovely Grace Tyson had looked that day, and dear old Barbara with
her near-sighted eyes, and the girls’ favorite, Lillie Bell, with her
gracious charm and dramatic poses. The girl smiled again as she
remembered Edith Whiton, the sport, and her harum-scarum oddities. Yes,
they were all dear girls. And how glad she was that she had become a
Pioneer, and a real blue robin, by joining the Blue Bird group.
And what a dear Mrs. Morrow, the Pioneer director, was that day the
Pioneers called. Oh, that was the day the “Mystic” had passed. Who would
have thought she would turn out to be Mrs. Van Vorst, who was so lovely.
And that ride with Dr. Morrow to the big gray house, and then she
mentally saw herself, with that handkerchief over her eyes, talking to
the Princess, Nita, the little hunchbacked girl. And what good friends
they had become through those history lessons!
The many useful things she had learned from the Pioneer hikes and
crafts, and the joys she had experienced from their many sports and
activities had certainly proved worth while. And the “overcomes” she had
fought for by adopting the Pioneer motto, “I can,” had certainly meant
something in her life.
But they did have gloriously good times at Camp Laff-a-Lot at Eagle
Lake, with the Boy Scouts, Miss Camphelia, Miss Dummy, and all the other
good sports. Then, too, there was the surprise, on her return to learn
the good that had come to Dick through the money so kindly loaned by
Mrs. Van Vorst. Indeed, that one year had brought many new things into
her life, for—O dear, there was all that silver to be cleaned! For, now
that her mother kept no maid, this duty, with many other menial tasks,
had devolved upon Nathalie. Oh, how she hated that job!
With a resigned air, however, she managed to carry the basket of silver
from the sideboard to the kitchen table, and then returned to the
dining-room for the tea-service. After getting her cleaning cloths, her
brushes, and the scouring-powder, with vigorous determination she began
to rub and polish.
But somehow everything acted aggravatingly mean, for she dropped the
polish, and the powder flew all over; then she knocked the tray and the
knives and forks clattered to the floor. O dear! what ailed things
anyway? And how her arms ached trying to polish those horrid tarnished
stains on the teapot! The tableware had never seemed so obdurate, nor
the means for making it bright so utterly ineffective.
“Oh, I guess I am the one who is ailing,” she exclaimed glumly, as she
suddenly realized that her mind was not on her task, and that the
elation of playing at being a patriot had departed, with Dick evidently,
leaving her as limp as a rag. Oh, it does seem such a shame that we had
to get into that war—Nathalie bit off her thought like a thread,
resolved not to let her mind dwell on that forbidden topic. But how
angelic her mother had acted when Dick went. Well, she was a dear,
anyway, so brave. But suppose he _never_ _should_ come back after all.
Something suddenly seemed to snap in the girl’s breast, and down went
her head on the tray, into a heap of powder, while a great sob strangled
out of her throat.
O horrors! Nathalie’s brown head bobbed up from the tray, not very
serenely either, for she had heard a step on the kitchen porch. Oh,
Helen always came in that way! “Where _is_ my handkerchief?” The girl
grabbed desperately at something white lying on the tray, dimly seen
through a blur of tears, and began to scrub her nose energetically with
alas, not her handkerchief, but the powder-cloth with which she had been
polishing the silver! “Ah chee! Ah chee!” sneezed Nathalie again and
again, while groping frenziedly, but blindly, for her handkerchief. She
must have dropped it. And then Helen’s arms were around her, and she was
kissing the flushed cheek.
“What’s struck you, honey girl?” she asked in that gentle way of hers.
“Have you got the influenza? But here’s a very necessary article at
times, if that’s what you’re after,” she finished with a laugh, as she
stooped and picked up Nathalie’s handkerchief from the floor.
“Influenza? No,” blurted out Nathalie savagely, tortured to a pitch of
desperation at her unfortunate predicament. “I’ve been rubbing my nose
with that dirty old piece of rag I clean the silver with. Serves me
right, I suppose, for being such a fool as to cry when I should be ‘on
my job,’ as Dick says.” She shamefacedly tried to hide her red eyes from
her friend’s keen gaze.
“Oh, well, it will do you good to cry, Nathalie, dear,” advised Helen
softly, as she stroked the brown head caressingly, “for you were quite a
heroine when Dick went away, so courageous and cheery. Mrs. Morrow says
you are the nerviest Pioneer she knows.”
“But I’m not,” confessed Nathalie honestly, “in fact, I’m beginning to
think that I’m a bluff. But anyway, I’m glad to get a bit of praise,
something to warm me up, for I have felt like a congealed icicle for the
last few days. Yes, I have smiled and smiled like the poor Spartan boy,
while the fox of Grief was gnawing a hole into my internals. That sounds
like one of Lillie Bell’s dramatics, doesn’t it?” she smiled
pathetically into her friend’s kindly eyes.
“But, Helen, you are a dear, anyway,” cried Nathalie in a sudden burst
of admiration for her tried and trusted friend, who was always such a
stanch and timely comforter. “And do you know,” she added, swinging
about in her chair with the teapot in one hand and the despised
polishing-cloth in the other, “you grow better-looking every day. Oh, I
think you are just lovely!”
“_I lovely?_” mocked Helen, opening her eyes in surprise at this
unexpected praise. “Well, Blue Robin, what started you on that trail?
You must have been kissing the Blarney Stone, for you are handing me out
‘the stuff,’ as the boys say, for fair. Poor me, with a knob on my nose,
a wide mouth, and green eyes—to call me lovely is a libel on the word.”
“Oh, Helen, your eyes are just lovely—every one says that, for they are
so expressive,” retorted her friend loyally; “and as for the knob on
your nose, no one would know it was there if you weren’t constantly
telling them about it. But I don’t care what you look like anyway,” she
added determinedly, “for I think you are a love of a friend. But when do
you go to France?” she finished abruptly.
“I don’t quite know yet,” replied the girl; “perhaps not until a month
or so. But mother is brave about letting me go. She says it will be a
fine experience for me,—as long as I don’t have to go ‘over the top.’
Oh, you finished your service-flag! It’s a Jim Dandy!” Helen plunged
recklessly into another topic, again blaming herself for her trick of
alluding to forbidden subjects, for she had seen Nathalie’s lips quiver
as she said “Over the top.”
“Yes, I finished it, and now the neighbors know where _we stand_, even
if _you_ consider me a pacifist,” said the girl a little defiantly.
“Well, perhaps I shall think differently some day,” with a quickly
repressed sigh.
“Yes, and that day is coming very soon, too, Blue Robin,” rejoined
Helen; “for I’ll bet you a box of candy that you won’t be a pacifist
after you hear Mrs. Morrow talk on liberty. Surely you haven’t forgotten
that we are to go to a Liberty Tea at her house this afternoon?” she
inquired as she saw her friend’s face settle down into an expression of
gloom.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll go,” retorted Nathalie quickly, “for I don’t
feel a bit Pioneery this morning, and then I have all this silver to
clean.”
“But, Blue Robin,” returned her friend cheerily, “I’m going to help you
finish up that silver, and then I’m going home to dress for this
afternoon. Then I’m coming over here and just make you go to that
Liberty Tea with me. You know, Nathalie, it would be mean for you to
desert Mrs. Morrow,” she added wisely, “for you are the leader of the
band and should help to entertain the girls.”
Whereupon, Helen caught up one of Nathalie’s kitchen-aprons, and a few
moments later the two girls were laughing and chatting in the best of
spirits, as they rubbed and polished with youthful ardor, every bone and
muscle keyed to its task.
Yes, it was enlivening to be so warmly welcomed by her hostess, Nathalie
decided, as she greeted her a little later in the afternoon, and her
depression vanished. And how perfectly lovely Mrs. Morrow looked in that
blue gown; yes, it was just the color of her blue-gray eyes. Under the
fascination of this lady’s charming personality Nathalie was soon flying
about, showing the girls how to start sweaters, or to purl, as this task
had been delegated to her by the director, who herself had taught
Nathalie.
When the tea was served it was Nathalie who occupied the place of honor
at the little tea-table, decorated with the United States flag, and who
dispensed the dainty little china cups filled with what was
patriotically called _Liberty Tea_ in honor of the young ladies who had
given it its name over a hundred years ago, and who the Pioneers had
impersonated last year in their entertainment of “Liberty Banners.”
After the teacups had been removed, and one or two announcements of
coming events had been made, Mrs. Morrow, with sudden gravity, said:
“We have gathered here to-day, girls, to commemorate the Spirit of
Liberty, the one great principle that has budded like Aaron’s rod, and
brought forth other qualities as splendid and compelling as itself, as,
for example, the principles represented in our national emblem. The
principle of humanity, which means living the Golden Rule by taking
thought for your neighbor; democracy, the equal rights of mankind, which
in turn gives rise to justice, loyalty, and unity,—the principles that
have not only given us that wonderful, mystical something called
Americanism, but the principles that mean the Christianity of Christ.”
After the girls had discussed the meaning of liberty and summed it up as
standing for man’s right to self-expression, either by words or actions,
and made it clear that it had to be governed by the law of self-control,
as too much freedom would mean license or lawlessness, Mrs. Morrow
continued her little talk.
“Liberty is not something that sprang into being with the coming of the
settlers to America, for it is as old as man himself; but under the rule
of king-ridden states it has been fighting its way through many long
centuries, because the peoples of the Old World failed to grasp its
meaning.
“Under the stimulus of the Reformation and the Revival of Learning,
induced by the printing of the Bible and other books, the early comers
to America, as they endeavored to worship God as they thought right, not
only left the intolerant forms and bigoted narrowness of the Old World,
but threw the first light on liberty by teaching man his right to
freedom of the soul. The Pilgrims and Puritans were the Pioneers of
liberty, for they not only gave us religious freedom, but, by
establishing a government for and by the people without the aid of king
or bishop, laid the cornerstone of a great commonwealth, and gave us
democratic liberty.
“If you girls would make a study of the history of the Thirteen
Colonies,” went on their director, “you would learn that not only each
Colony contributed to the principles embodied in every stripe, star, and
color of our spangled banner, but that a universal love of freedom seems
to have animated the settlers. Each individual group, to be sure, had
its own peculiar belief, but, in the working-out of their cherished
ideals and aspirations, liberty was the bone and sinew of every colony.
“It was under the influence of these early settlers—the giving of their
best to mankind in their struggles for freedom—that the ideals and
beliefs of the New World were molded into higher and better
institutions, purified and strengthened by a new significance. Their
ideals and aspirations were essentially different from anything known
before,—ideals peculiar to this soil, which were absolutely American,
not only in religious freedom, but in the institutions of local
government and the union of all states into one, which gave rise to the
United States of America.
“Now we have come to the great subject of the hour, the war, and a
question I have heard several of you girls ask, ‘Why are we in the
war?’”
Nathalie felt her face redden, and shifted uneasily in her seat. O dear!
she did wish she had not come. Of course the talk was very interesting,
but still she didn’t want to think of this terrible war.
“I have heard it said,” pursued Mrs. Morrow, “that we are in the war to
avenge the sinking of the _Lusitania_, and that we must not allow the
Germans to break the international law by killing our sailors and
seamen. I have heard it said, too, that if they conquered the Allies
they would come over here and fight us. These are all sufficient reasons
in a sense.”
The lady paused, and then, with grave solemnity, said: “And I have heard
it put forth that we are in the war to maintain our national honor and
integrity. I think I hear some of you girls say, ‘But we haven’t done
any wrong: we have kept neutral; our principles are not involved.’”
Nathalie’s eyes were aglow as she bent forward, and with parted lips
anxiously awaited Mrs. Morrow’s reply to this question.
“Now that we realize the depth and grandeur of the principles given to
us by the founders of this nation, and know that every time our flag is
unfurled it tells the world that religious and democratic liberty were
born on these shores of America, are we going back on these principles?
Are we going to allow other nations to say that our principles are just
in the flying of our colors, that they stand for nothing but self-praise
and the nation’s glorification?
“No,” cried the lady with grave emphasis, “by our love for our flag, by
our love for our birth-land, by our reverence for the men who taught us
these principles we swear to defend every time we hoist our colors, we
must get into this war. We must prove that our flag is in the right
place, and that we carry it in our hearts. We must strive to show with
our soul’s might that we are living these principles by being true to
ourselves and to our nation’s honor, and carry our feelings into action.
“We must forget self, our desire for selfish ease and pleasure. We must
align ourselves with the suffering masses of people across the sea, and
help them to rid themselves of the iron-shod heel of one-man power. We
must stand side by side with the Allies for humanity, democracy, and
liberty. We must show the world that the so-called divine right of kings
is a worn-out belief of savagery, and prove by the principles back of
our flag, prove by the living of these principles, the sacredness of
God’s heritage to man, the right of the world’s people to know, as we
know, the principles that have made us the freest people in the world.
“Each one of you girls must not only do your bit, but must give of your
best to your brothers and sisters over the sea. And if the best means
the giving-up of those who are so dear to us, we must prove that we are
true daughters of liberty, and send them forth cheerfully, to give
freedom and liberty to the world.”
There was an impressive silence, and then Mrs. Morrow’s voice broke into
song. In another moment the girls had joined their voices with hers, and
were loudly sounding forth the old-time tune and the well-beloved words:
“In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
“He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet;
Our God is marching on!”
Later in the afternoon, as the girls hurried happily out from the white
house on the corner, each one chatting merrily, intent on telling what
she had done or intended to do for the war, Nathalie alone was silent,
weighed down, as it were, by a strange sense of shame. Yes, she had been
blindly selfish, and had failed to realize the momentousness of the
great questions of the day. When she had been called upon, to give love
and sympathy to her neighbors, the poor suffering masses of people over
seas, she had selfishly turned her back to the call—she had failed to
show herself a daughter of liberty. Why, she was not a patriot,—no, not
even an American; and in the spirit, if not in the letter, she had
dishonored Dick, yes, and her father, who had always been so steadfast
and true to everything that was American.
That night Nathalie could not sleep, but tossed restlessly from side to
side, as parts of Mrs. Morrow’s speech kept forcing themselves upon her
memory. And just as she had succeeded in driving them away, and also the
remorseful thought that she had not given her best, that she had failed
to show greatness, the song the girls had sung that afternoon, with the
luring, old-time air and the soul-stirring words, flashed with vivid
distinctness:
“As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.”
The girl sat up in bed, and in a crooning whisper hummed the whole verse
through, repeating again and again,
“As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.”
The beauty as well as the significance of the words had made their
appeal. Christ had died to make men holy; she must give of her best to
make men free. She must show herself great, but what could _she_ do?
But even as the question came, so flashed the answer, and Nathalie was
again softly humming,
“Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet;
Our God is marching on.”
And then suddenly a thought stamped itself upon her mind. The girl
caught her breath. Yes, she had given Dick up because she had been
forced to do so, but now she would make the sacrifice, give the best of
herself; she would stop once and forever all useless repining. She would
keep herself cheered by the thought that she was glad—she gritted her
teeth determinedly—that she had Dick to give to help make people free.
Yes, but she _must do something_—she must give _her best_; no, it might
not be anything very great or big, but she must show she was a true
daughter of liberty. Ah, she knew what she could do, and then Nathalie
fell back on her pillow, and although she lay very still, her brain was
alert, thinking and planning. Yes, she could get the girls together; she
would begin the very next morning. She would have every one in it, for
liberty wouldn’t be liberty unless it was free to all. And then one
thought and another kept popping into her mind, until finally the tired
brain went on a strike and refused to register any more thoughts, and
Nathalie, without a word of protest, tumbled into the land o’ dreams.
The next morning she was up betimes, and was soon singing cheerily at
her work, every now and then stopping in the midst of some favored
melody, to repeat softly,
“As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.”
In such a state of cheerfulness time flew swiftly, and soon Nathalie was
up in the attic writing a note. Yes, it sounded all right, she decided
as she read it over slowly. And then her hand was again flying over the
paper, and another note was written, and then another, and still
another, until, with a sigh of relief, Nathalie found that she had them
all finished. No, she wasn’t going to leave any one out. Quickly
gathering up the notes the girl was off, running lightly down the
stairs, and then flying swiftly across the lawn to see what Helen would
think of the thing she had planned in the stillness of the night.