Читать книгу The Camp Fire Girls on the Field of Honor - Vandercook Margaret - Страница 4

One afternoon about midway in the voyage across the Atlantic, Mrs. Burton was seated upon the upper deck in her steamer chair enveloped in a fur rug and a fur coat. A small sealskin turban completely covered her hair, so only her face was revealed, her brilliant blue eyes, long slender nose and chin, and her cheeks upon which two spots of color were glowing.

She was talking in French with a great deal of animation to a man who sat beside her. From his manner and appearance and also from his pronunciation it was self-evident that he was a Frenchman. Moreover, he revealed a certain intellectual distinction typically French. Monsieur Georges Duval was of middle age with clear-cut, aristocratic features, keen dark eyes and iron-gray hair. In comparison with him Mrs. Burton looked like a girl.

It was just before tea time and the deck was crowded with the ship’s passengers. Since no lights were permitted after dark, it was necessary to enjoy all the daylight possible out of doors. This afternoon was clear and lovely, with a serene blue sky and sea.

A number of the Camp Fire girls were strolling about talking to new acquaintances. But if Mrs. Burton had any knowledge of their presence she gave no sign, being too deeply interested in her conversation with her present companion.

“You are extremely kind, Monsieur, and I am most happy to receive any advice you can give me. Later on I shall probably ask for your aid as well. Now and then I have wondered if in coming to France to offer our services to your country many American women may not prove more of a burden than a help. I hope this may not be true of me or of my companions. We intend to settle down somewhere in one of the devastated districts and do whatever we can to be useful. But chiefly the group of girls I have with me want to offer their services to French girls. I have so often thought, Monsieur, that perhaps the greatest problem of the future rests with the young girls of the present day. When the war is over it will be their task to care for the wounded men and for many others whom these long years of warfare will have made unfit for work. More than this, there will be so many of these girls who can never have husbands or children. Our Camp Fire organization in the United States has a special message for the women of the future. But I must not bore you with this when you have so many matters of more importance to hold your attention.”

Monsieur Duval shook his head.

“You are not boring me, Madame. You could not do that, but in any case remember you are talking to a Frenchman about the women of his own country. Sometimes I think we Frenchmen confuse our women and our country; to us they are so much one and the same thing. When we fight for France, we are fighting for our women, when we fight to protect our women we are fighting to save France. I do not believe the world half realizes what great burdens the French women bore after the Franco-Prussian war, only forty years ago, not only in working shoulder to shoulder with their men, but by inspiring them after a bitter and cruel defeat. The courage, the steadfastness which France has revealed in the four long years of this present war is one way in which we have tried to pay our immense debt to them.”

Unable to reply because of the tears which she made no effort to conceal, Mrs. Burton remained silent for a few moments. When she finally spoke it was with a kind of diffidence:

“Monsieur Duval, has it ever occurred to you how strange it is that, aside from our American Revolution, most of the great modern wars for democracy have been fought upon French soil? I have thought of this many times and sorrowed over what seems the injustice to your race. Forgive me if I appear too fanciful! Recently I have recognized why France always is represented by the symbolic figure of a woman. She has endured the birth of the world’s freedom inside her body and her soul.”

In Mrs. Burton’s speech there was perhaps nothing original, but always there was the old thrilling beautiful quality to her voice which stirred her audience, whether large or small.

Monsieur Duval did not attempt to hide both his admiration and interest in his companion. The second day out at sea they had been introduced to each other by Mrs. Bishop, the woman novelist, with whom Mrs. Burton had a slight acquaintance in New York City. Indeed, they had met only upon one occasion, but on shipboard one is apt to renew acquaintances which one would have considered of no special interest at other times.

Since their original meeting Mrs. Burton and the French commissioner, whom she had discovered to be a member of the French senate as well, had spent several hours each day in talking together. There were many subjects in which they were both interested, although of course the war absorbed the greater part of their thought.

“I only hope France may prove worthy of the sympathy and aid your country pours out upon her so generously. But I think when you reach France you will have no reason to complain of her lack of gratitude,” the Frenchman answered.

“Of course our cause at present is a common one and our soldiers are fighting as brothers. But long before your men fought with ours, you American women were rendering us every possible service. Please be sure if I can be of the least assistance to you in making your plans for work in France I shall be more than happy. In spite of all our conversations you never have told me definitely what it is you intend doing.”

Mrs. Burton smiled. A cool breeze was blowing in from the sea so that she hid herself closer inside her rug.

“Just a moment then, Monsieur Duval, I will talk of our plans and then we must discuss something frivolous. Every morning as I waken I make up my mind not to speak of the war for at least a few hours, but somehow I never manage to keep my promise to myself. We intend undertaking a certain amount of reclamation work in one of the ruined French villages. Our present scheme is first to find an old farm house and establish ourselves there in order to make a home where our neighbors can come to us as they will. My Camp Fire girls thus hope to form friendships with the French girls and later to induce them to become interested in our Camp Fire ideas.

“You may be amused, Monsieur Duval, but another thing we intend is to teach the French women and girls to make corn bread, so as to help in the wheat conservation. I was told by a woman in Washington, who had just come back from the devastated regions, that this would be a real service to France, if once we could persuade the French people to our use of corn. The Indians taught us. As our Camp Fire is more or less modeled upon their institutions, we hope to carry on the Indian message of the corn. But enough of this; you have been kind to listen to me so long.”

Monsieur Duval shook his head courteously.

“What you say is interesting and worth while, Madame, but I have an idea that you need not personally give all of your own time to these efforts. These matters your companions and other women may be able to accomplish with equal success. But you, you probably will find more important work to do in France. Perhaps you will allow me to see you later. I do not wish our acquaintance to end with our voyage, and it may be I can persuade you to additional tasks. But in any case I hope you will talk personally with many of my country people, men and women; there is no one so well adapted to make our nations understand each other as a gifted and charming American woman. I have many friends in Paris and before you leave I trust I may be allowed the privilege of presenting at least a few of them to you.”

Feeling agreeably flattered, as any woman is flattered by the homage of a clever man, Mrs. Burton was about to reply, when suddenly the tall figure of Miss Patricia Lord appeared, rising before her like a pillar of darkness.

She gave Monsieur Duval a curt nod; except for this she made no explanation of her presence, continuing standing until the courteous Frenchman felt constrained to offer her his chair.

However, not until he had walked away did she condescend to accept his place and then she managed to sit perfectly upright, which is a difficult feat in a reclining chair.

“What is the matter, Aunt Patricia?” Mrs. Burton at once demanded, feeling suddenly disturbed by Miss Patricia’s severe expression. “Surely nothing has happened to any one of the Camp Fire girls! I think I have noticed nearly all of them strolling about on deck in the past half hour.”

Gloomily Miss Patricia frowned. “I am not here to discuss with you the girls whom you are suppose to be chaperoning. I wish to speak of your conduct, Polly Burton. I have been considering the subject for the past twenty-four hours. Under the circumstances you might as well know first as last that I do not approve of your present intimacy with this unknown Frenchman, this Mr. Duval.” Miss Patricia scorned the use of the French title. “I have no idea of attempting to pronounce the foolish word the French employ for plain ‘Mister.’ However, you realize perfectly well that from the day following our sailing you have spent the greater part of your time in his society. Sorry as I am to speak of this, my respect for your husband compels me to warn you – ”

Here Aunt Patricia was interrupted by an explosion of laughter as fresh and ingenuous as a girl’s.

“My dear Aunt Patricia, really I beg your pardon, but I supposed you were coming with me to France to help me chaperon my Camp Fire girls! I never dreamed of your also feeling obliged to chaperon me. Remember, I am pretty old and never was particularly fascinating, even as a girl. I am afraid you will have a hard time to persuade my husband to jealousy. Richard is the fascinating member of our family! As a matter of fact, I have simply been boring Monsieur Duval for the past hour by discussing our plan of campaign after we reach France. You don’t consider the subject a dangerous one?”

But neither Miss Patricia’s face nor figure relaxed.

“I may not be original, Polly Burton; as a matter of fact, I have no idea that you said anything of the least importance to your Frenchman. With you it is the old story; it is not what you say, but the way you say it. I have been watching you and you may pretend to have noticed the Camp Fire girls. However, if you tell the truth, you have not been aware of anything or anybody except Mr. Duval during the entire afternoon.”

At this moment Miss Patricia appeared so annoyed and suspicious that it was difficult for Mrs. Burton to decide whether she were the more amused or irritated. However, it made no difference; either attitude would be entirely lost upon Miss Patricia Lord.

“I am sorry you don’t approve of me,” Mrs. Burton returned with a pretence of meekness, yet dropping her eyelids to conceal the expression of her eyes.

“It is not that I do not approve of you, Polly, for I so seldom do that,” Aunt Patricia replied. “It is that I also feel it my duty to recall you to your duty. You speak of having lately observed the Camp Fire girls wandering about near you. I feel it an effort to believe this because only a short time ago, while undoubtedly you were enjoying yourself with a foreigner concerning whom you know absolutely nothing, I discovered Sally Ashton seated upon a coil of rope in an obscure portion of this vessel, flirting outrageously with a young American physician. Your niece, Peggy Webster, is walking up and down the lower deck with a French officer; lower deck not the upper, mind you, where she might have been seen by you, although I doubt it. The other girls are – ”

By this time Mrs. Burton had become seriously annoyed. She was obliged to remember, of course, that Miss Patricia was a much older woman, yet, nevertheless her eyes darkened and her color deepened a little ominously.

“Please Aunt Patricia, you are making a mistake,” she began warmly. “I am not in the habit of spying upon my Camp Fire girls and I am sure you will never find such a proceeding necessary.”

Then, ashamed of the word she had employed, she continued more gently.

“So you have been making a tour of investigation because you considered that I was neglecting my duty? All I can say, Aunt Patricia, is that you will always discover Sally Ashton flirting if there is an agreeable man in sight. I cannot make up my mind whether or not Sally is unconscious, yet flirting with her is either an instinct, an art, or both. However, every man who sees her immediately succumbs. But as for Peggy, Peggy is an absolutely trustworthy person! Did I not tell you that Peggy considers herself engaged to Ralph Marshall, who is in the aviation service in France at the present time? None of Peggy’s family will acknowledge her engagement; we feel she is too young, yet Ralph’s parents are old friends of my sister and brother-in-law. After a time I am sure you will understand the Camp Fire Girls better.”

There was undeniably a tone of condescension in Mrs. Burton’s voice, and Aunt Patricia sniffed.

“I understand the girls as well as I consider necessary, Polly Burton, and probably better than you do. I have always insisted that you have little knowledge of human nature. As for thinking that a girl of Peggy’s age, with almost no experience of life, can have any idea of the character of man she could or should marry – ”

But here, realizing that Miss Patricia was mounted upon one of her favorite hobbies and that nothing she could say or do would stop her, Mrs. Burton, pretending to offer a polite attention, in reality allowed her mind to wander.

Miss Patricia was usually antagonistic to all male persons safely past their babyhood. Among her friends it was an open question whether Aunt Patricia had been jilted at an early age, or whether she had never condescended to an admirer.

“All men are idiots,” is what she had been known to remark when hard pressed.

Gradually Mrs. Burton allowed herself to slip back in her chair, resting her head more comfortably against a brown velvet cushion.

It was strange that she had felt so little fear of the submarine menace during the present voyage, when she had expected to be fearful the entire way across. There were odd moments at night when one could not sleep, thinking of the possible, even the probable danger that might manifest itself at any moment. But aside from obeying the ship’s rules with regard to life belts and lights, the keeping of one’s state-room door unlatched, what was there to do save trust in a higher power?

Actually at this moment Mrs. Burton, while presumably listening, was deciding that she was enjoying the very crossing to France she had so much dreaded.

It would never do to shock Aunt Patricia, yet in a number of years she had not met so agreeable a man as the French senator. Moreover, she was entertained by the opportunity to form a new and stimulating intimacy with a clever woman. Mrs. Bishop, known to her public as Georgianna Bishop, having written several successful novels, was at present traveling to Europe to write of the American soldiers life in the trenches.

In spite of the fact that Miss Patricia seemed also to regard Mrs. Bishop with disfavor, Mrs. Burton had invited her to spend a part of her time in France with them, if it could possibly be arranged.

At this moment, if Miss Patricia would only stop talking, Mrs. Burton believed that she would like to have Mrs. Bishop sit beside her during the hour of afternoon tea.

Tea would be served in a few moments. Perhaps, if Miss Patricia would decide to move, one of the Camp Fire girls would appear to act as messenger and find Mrs. Bishop.

With this thought in mind, glancing carelessly up and down the deck, Mrs. Burton discovered Vera Lagerloff and Bettina Graham coming hurriedly toward her. What was more surprising, they were accompanied by the new friend with whom she had been talking a few moments before.

Both girls looked so white and frightened that Mrs. Burton, making a hasty movement in attempting to jump up from her chair, found herself entangled in her steamer rug.

As Monsieur Duval endeavored to extricate her, he said quietly:

“I hope we have not alarmed you, but a most unfortunate accident has just occurred on board ship, which I hope may not develop into a tragedy. A young French girl, traveling with the American Red Cross unit, is supposed to have attempted to take her own life. I am by no means sure of this, she may be ill and have fainted from some cause. I was sent for, I presume because of my nationality, then some one suggested you.”

But before Monsieur Duval had more than finished speaking, Mrs. Burton was hurrying away, accompanied by Bettina and Vera.

“I really do not know how to explain what has happened,” Bettina continued. “You remember the French girl we have noticed because she appeared so much younger than the other members of her Red Cross unit? It seems that at the beginning of the war all her people were killed and her home in France destroyed, so that she is now entirely alone. She was living with friends in the United States, but suddenly decided that she wished to return to France. Unexpectedly she must have lost her courage. However, all Vera and I really know it what one of the other Red Cross girls told us, asking us to tell no one else.”

By the end of Bettina’s speech, Mrs. Burton and the two girls had left the deck, and Vera was leading the way down one of the narrow corridors bordered on either side by small state-rooms.

At the door of one of the rooms a woman in the uniform of a Red Cross nurse, after making a little motion to command silence, stepped quietly out.

“There is nothing serious the matter, Mrs. Burton. It was hardly worth while to disturb you. At present the young French girl who was crossing with us to her former home is suffering from an attack of hysteria. As I have not been able to quiet her and as you are here, perhaps you will come and see what you can do.”

Then she turned to Vera and Bettina.

“If there is any other story of what has occurred being told on board ship, will you please do your best to contradict it? A ship is a hopeless place for gossip. However, I am afraid Yvonne will scarcely be fit for the work our Red Cross unit expects to undertake. I must find some one to befriend the child after we reach Paris.”

Bettina and Vera moved away, followed by the older woman.

At the same instant Mrs. Burton, entering the half open door of the state-room, discovered a young girl of about seventeen or eighteen, with large brown eyes and fair hair, lying huddled on the bed. She was not crying, yet instantly put up her hands before her face as if to escape observation.

Mrs. Burton sat down on the edge of the berth beside her.