The Campfire Girls On The Field Of Honor Part 8

To this invitation Sally had made no reply. She especially disliked foolish, feathery outdoor things and had no intention of sacrificing her well-earned leisure. The school had a semi-weekly half holiday and for once the house was quiet.

Yet after a little more than an hour of leisure, Sally found herself bored. Many times of late she had missed her old friendship with Gerry Williams, since this was her first Camp Fire experience without Gerry, who had married Felipe Morris the summer before in California.

At least Gerry occasionally had been frivolous! Certainly these were war times and yet could one be serious forever and ever, without an intermission? The other Camp Fire girls now and then got upon Sally's nerves.

As she was seldom warm enough these days, covered with her steamer blanket Sally had been curled up on the bed in her room which she shared with her sister. First she had taken a short nap and then attempted to read a French novel which she had discovered in the attic of the farm.

The French puzzled her and it was tiresome to have to consult a dictionary. So Sally lay still for a few moments listening to Mere 'Toinette singing the Ma.r.s.eillaise in a cracked old voice as she went about her work downstairs.

Finally, stretching in a characteristically indolent fashion, Sally rose and walked over to a window. She could only see through one small opening. All the gla.s.s in the countryside had been smashed by the terrific bombardments, and as there was no gla.s.s to be had for restoring the windows, glazed paper had been pasted over the frames. The one small aperture had been left for observation of climate and scenery.

Even without her birdseye view, Sally was conscious that the sun was shining brilliantly. A long streak had shone through the glazed paper and lay across her bed.

She decided that she might enjoy a short walk. She really had forgotten Mrs. Burton's suggestion that no one of the girls leave the farm alone and had no thought of deliberately breaking an unwritten law.

Mere 'Toinette and Sally had become devoted friends and also there was an unspoken bond of sympathy between her and Jean, expressed only by the way in which the old man looked at her and in certain dry chucklings in his throat and shakings of his head.

As Sally was about to leave the front door suddenly Mere 'Toinette appeared, to present her with a little package of freshly baked fruit m.u.f.fins. Sally's appet.i.te in war times, when everybody was compelled to live upon such short rations, was a standing household joke and one which she deeply resented. Mere 'Toinette resented the point of view equally, preferring Sally to any one of the other girls, and also it was her idea that the good things of this world are created only for the young. There was no measure to her own self-sacrifice.

A few yards beyond the house Sally discovered old Jean, who was doubtless coming to find her, as he bore in his hand a French fleur-de-lis, the national wild flower, which he had found growing in a field as hardy and unconquerable as the French spirit.

Sally accepted his offering with the smile of grat.i.tude which seemed always a sufficient reward for her many masculine admirers.

With Mere 'Toinette's gift in her Camp Fire knapsack and with Jean's flower thrust into her belt, Sally then made a fresh start. She had not thought of going far, as the roads and fields were in too disagreeable a condition.

Pausing about an eighth of a mile from the farm house, she considered whether after all it were worth while to remain out of doors. Even if the afternoon were enchanting, walking through the heavy upturned soil was unpleasant.

Then by accident Sally chanced to observe the ruins of the old French chateau shining under the rays of the winter sun.

It was not far away and suddenly she made up her mind to go upon an exploring tour. Half a dozen times in the past few weeks the Camp Fire girls had discussed paying a visit to the chateau to see what interesting discoveries they might unearth among the ruins. But no one of them had so far had the opportunity.

Ordinarily Sally Ashton was the least experimental of the entire group of girls. Instinctively, as a type of the feminine, home-staying woman, she disliked the many adventurous members of her own sisterhood. With not a great deal of imagination, Sally's views of romance were practical and matter of fact. Young men fell in love with one and she had no idea of how many lovers one might have and no thought of limiting the number so far as she was personally concerned. Then among the number one selected the man who would make the most comfortable and agreeable husband, married him, had children and was happy ever afterwards. So you see, a romance which might bring sorrow as well as happiness had no place in Sally Ashton's practical scheme of life.

Therefore the fates must have driven her to the old French chateau on this winter afternoon.

The walk itself occupied about half an hour. Around the chateau in times past there had been a moat. For their own convenience the German troops quartered at the old place had left the bridge over the moat undisturbed, else Sally would never have hazarded a dangerous crossing.

The house had been built of gray stone and it was difficult to imagine how the enemy had managed so completely to reduce it to ruins. An explosion of dynamite must have been employed, for the chateau appeared to have fallen as if it had been destroyed by an earthquake. Certain portions of the outer walls remained standing, but the towers in the center had caved in upon the interior of the house.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Figure Was that of a Young Soldier.]

As Sally drew near she felt a little desolate and yet she was not frightened, although a proverbial coward.

The place appeared too abandoned to fear that any living thing could be in its vicinity. It was only that one felt the pity of the destruction of this ancient and beautiful home.

The waste and confusion of war troubled Sally as it does all women. So hard it is to see why destruction is necessary to the growth and development of human history!

Wondering what had become of the French family who formerly had lived in the chateau before the outbreak of the war, Sally walked up closer to the ruins. From a s.p.a.ce between two walls, forming an insecure arch, a bird darted out into the daylight. Not ordinarily influenced by the beauties of nature or by unexpected expressions of her moods, nevertheless Sally uttered a cry of enchantment.

Between the walls she had spied the ruins of an old French drawing room.

The bird must have flown through the opening into the room and then quickly out again into the sunshine.

A little table remained standing with an open book upon it, laid face down. There was a rug on the floor, now thick with mould, and yet it was a rare Aubusson rug with st.u.r.dy cupids trailing flowery vines across its surface. There were pieces of broken furniture and bric-a-brac strewn over the floor.

Sally must have continued staring inside the room for several moments before she slowly became aware that there was a human figure seated in a chair in the shadow near one of the half fallen walls.

The figure was that of a young soldier. He was asleep when Sally discovered him and incredibly dirty. His hair was long and matted, hanging thick over his forehead. One arm was wrapped in a soiled bandage.

Yet Sally did not feel frightened, only faint and ill for an instant from pity.

Coming to their farm house after a few days in Paris, Sally had seen trains filled with wounded soldiers. In Paris she also had noticed blinded and invalided men being led along the streets by their families or friends, yet never so piteous a figure as this.

CHAPTER IX

A MYSTERY

Sally's little cry of astonishment must have awakened the soldier.

The terror on his face when he first beheld her took away any thought of fear from the girl. Besides it was all too strange! Why should he, a soldier, be afraid, and of her? And why should he be in hiding in this queer tumble-down old place? For he _was_ in hiding, there was no doubt of this from his furtive manner.

Some instinct in Sally, or perhaps the fact that she had seen so much hunger since her arrival in this portion of France, made her immediately take out her little package of bread which Mere 'Toinette had given her and thrust it forward.

She was standing framed in the arch made by the two fallen walls, not having moved since the moment of her amazing discovery.

The soldier's hunger was greater than his fear, for he almost s.n.a.t.c.hed the food from Sally's hands and, as he ate it she could not bear watching him. There is something dreadful in the sight of a human being ravenously hungry.

Afterwards, when he did not speak, Sally found herself making the first remarks, and unconsciously and stupidly, not realizing what she was doing at the moment, she spoke in English.

The next instant, to her surprise, the soldier replied in the same tongue, although it seemed to Sally that he spoke with a foreign accent, what the accent was she did not know. Sally had not a great deal of experience, neither was she particularly clever.

"What are you doing here?" is what she naturally inquired.

The soldier hesitated and placed his hand to his forehead, looking at the girl dazedly.

"Why am I hiding here?" he repeated. Then almost childishly he went on: "I am hiding, hiding because no one must find me, else I would be shot at once. I don't know how long I have been here alone. I am very cold."

"But I don't understand your reason," Sally argued. "Why don't you find some one to take care of you? You cannot be living here; besides you could not have been here long without food or water or you would have died."

"But I have had a little food and water," the soldier replied. "I found a few cans of food in a closet and there is water in one of the rooms."

His voice had a complaining note which was an expression of suffering if one had understood. Then his face was feverish and wretched.

"But you don't look as if you had used much water," Sally remarked in her usual matter-of-fact fashion. She had a way of pursuing her own first idea without being influenced by other considerations.

"It is hard work when one's arm is like this," the soldier returned fretfully.