Barbara looked so worn and fragile these days. The roundness had gone from her cheeks as well as their color, her eyes and lips rarely smiled. It would only trouble her further to have him cast his burden upon her. For Barbara would, of course, be sorry to cause him unhappiness. So Dick decided to wait until serener times.
One afternoon, however, the opportunity for entrusting one of his secrets arrived.
For the past three days Eugenia had been growing continuously weaker. The crisis of her disease had passed and her fever was not so high. But her weakness had become a more dangerous symptom.
About four o'clock Dick drove out to the house in the woods with Dr. Mason, who was one of the physicians devoting himself to Eugenia's case.
He did not go indoors, but asked that one of the three American Red Cross girls be sent out to speak to him. It was a cold afternoon, yet the sun was shining and Dick felt that the fresh air would be of benefit. No matter which of the three girls was free to join him,they could walk up and down in the yard for a few minutes. The suspense of waiting for Dr. Mason's verdict would be less severe outdoors than shut up inside.
But although Dick walked up and down the front porch for quite ten minutes, no one appeared. Either Dr. Mason had forgotten to deliver his message or else the girls were too busy or too nervous to leave the house.
Dick finally grew weary of the veranda as a place for a promenade. A little later some one would be sure to come out to him, and in the meantime he would walk a short distance into the woods.
A few yards along the path the young man stumbled across Barbara.
She was wearing her gray blue nursing cape and was sitting upon a log. She looked so tiny and was huddled so close that Dick somehow thought of a little gray squirrel.
Barbara was too engrossed in her thoughts to hear him until he was almost upon her. Then Dick grew frightened, because instead of speaking she jumped to her feetand put up her hand to her throat as if she were choking.
It did not occur to Dick that she was terrified. He did not dream that she had run away from the house because she dared not wait to hear Dr. Mason's decision in regard to Eugenia. Now, of course, she thought him sent to her with a message.
And the worst of it was Dick did not say a word. He simply stared at her, mute and sorrowful, because gay little Bab had become such a pathetic figure on this November afternoon.
Dick's silence could mean but one thing to the girl.
She made a little fluttering sound, wavered, and the next moment Dick was holding her upright on her feet with both his arms.
At this same instant Barbara forgot both Eugenia and herself.
She had felt the world growing dark before her eyes a moment before. Now a miracle brought her back to her senses.
She drew herself away at once and stood upright. Then placed both her hands on Dick Thornton's two arms.
"Dick," she said in an awed tone, "didn't you usebothyour arms just now, when you kept me from falling?"
Her companion nodded.
"I have been meaning to tell you, Barbara, but you have been too busy with other things. My arm has been growing stronger each day, but I didn't know myself until this minute that I could use the lame one as easily as the good. I suppose because I was frightened about you, I forgot my own weakness."
Then while Barbara was gazing at her friend in silence, but with her eyes expressing her joy in his news, Mildred Thornton came running along the path toward them.
"Dr. Mason says Eugenia is much better this afternoon. He has the greatest hopes of her," she cried, while still several yards away.
"Gene recognized Nona and asked for something to eat. Nona says she even objected to the way in which she gave her medicine, so I suppose we have the old Gene back again. Come with me, Barbara dear, Dr. Mason says we mayboth speak to her. Afterwards she is to be left alone to go to sleep and I shall have to try to keep the children quiet. You must see if you can get Jan away from her door. The boy has not moved from there since six o'clock this morning."
Then Mildred condescended to recognize her brother. But after kissing him hurriedly, she put her arm about Barbara's waist and both girls fled back to the house.
Later, Dick returned to town without seeing either one of them again that afternoon.
Barbara Meade was chosen as the suitable one of the three girls to accompany Eugenia out of Belgium.
There were a number of reasons for this decision, but the most important was that her friends agreed she was most in need of a change. Another point was that Eugenia appeared to prefer to have her.
But the journey could not be expected to be an altogether pleasant one. Eugenia was still ill enough to be a responsibility, and, moreover, the German authorities did not hesitate to express their wish to be rid of her as soon as possible. It was for this reason that the trip was planned as soon as it was in the least feasible.
Toward the middle of December the preparations for departure were finally concluded. It was arranged that NonaDavis and Mildred Thornton should remain in charge of Eugenia's house in the woods for a time. For the children must continue being cared for. Therefore, the American hospital in Brussels had agreed temporarily to dispense with their services. Later on perhaps it might be possible to make a more definite arrangement. But at present Nona and Mildred were both pleased to have a change in their work. Besides, this change afforded them the chance to stay on with their friends until the actual time of their leave-taking.
Neither of the four girls ever forgot the final moment of farewell.
Since daylight they had talked about everything else under the sun except the fact that they might not meet again for many months. For under the circumstances naturally their future plans were indefinite.
Barbara and Eugenia had been informed that they would be escorted to the frontiers of Holland. Once within the neutral state no further observation would be made of them and they could go where they chose.
They had determined to cross at once to England and then, lingering only long enough for Eugenia to rest, to travel by slow stages to southern France. Once there, they were once more to take refuge in the little "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door."
For in the midst of Eugenia's illness a letter had arrived from Madame Castaigne. In it she had demanded that Miss Peabody be removed at once from a country at present overrun by barbarians. In her opinion, the American Red Cross girls should never have departed from the protection of her beloved France. Whenever it was possible the farmhouse was at their disposal. Moreover, Madame Castaigne suffered for their companionship. For she and François had been entirely alone for months. Captain Castaigne was away in another part of the country with his regiment.
So it had been both Eugenia's and Barbara's fancy to go back for a time to the little house they had both loved. When Eugenia had entirely recovered her health, they could then decide on the next step.
At Eugenia's request no one of their many friends in Brussels came out to say good-bye on the last day. For her own sake and the happiness of the children she wished her departure to be as quiet as possible.
She and Barbara were therefore ready and waiting by noon, when the German officer arrived who was to take them to the border line.
Neither of the girls had been informed who this man might be, nor what his character and rank.
Personally, Barbara felt a considerable anxiety. So much of the comfort of the first of their journey would depend on his courtesy. Then there was the chance that Eugenia might be less strong than they hoped and fall ill again along the way.
Yet Eugenia herself seemed to have no qualms upon the subject. Her one desire appeared to be to get away, to return to the country she had wilfully turned her back upon. For it had been chiefly due to Eugenia's influence that the AmericanRed Cross girls had left France to begin a new service in Belgium.
Finally, when the German officer arrived, Nona, Mildred and Barbara were equally discouraged by his manner and appearance.
In the first place, he was a man of a rough and surly exterior. He was only a sergeant, with an overbearing and insolent method of speaking. Indeed, he made no pretence of treating Eugenia in any way except as an intruder who had come dangerously near being a traitor to his government. Therefore, he had nothing but scorn and dislike of her.
He would have chosen to travel with his prisoner in handcuffs, but since this had been forbidden she should be allowed no other consideration.
So Nona and Mildred had to kiss their friends good-bye with the German sergeant staring at them disdainfully. Then before they realized what was taking place they beheld Eugenia and Barbara being marched down the path toward a car which was to take them to their train.
Eugenia could scarcely keep up withthe rapid pace demanded of her. She looked very ill and fragile and Barbara very tiny to have her clinging for support to her arm.
Neither Mildred nor Nona could see distinctly at the last. Afterwards they remembered that Eugenia and Bab had both waved their hands just as the motor car plunged ahead down the narrow path through the woods.
They had promised to write as soon as it was possible to get a letter through the lines. But there was a chance that their mail must first be sent to the United States and then have to recross the ocean.
Naturally the two girls who had been left behind were deeply depressed. Yet they had little time for reflection. For Eugenia had asked that the children be given a feast as soon as she was safely out of the way. Moreover, there was Nicolete dissolved in tears! She had wished to accompany her friend, but on account of Monsieur Bebé's helplessness had been persuaded to remain behind.
Work is ever the solace of sorrow, asMildred and Nona both discovered ten minutes after their parting from the other two Red Cross girls.
But Eugenia and Barbara had no such immediate consolation.
Half a dozen times in the next few hours Barbara greatly desired to start a war on her own account. Yet in spite of her somewhat fiery temperament she could say and do nothing. It was not on her own account that she was so angry, but for the sake of her friend.
For notwithstanding her apparent weakness, Eugenia was forced to travel in a train so crowded that she started upon her journey standing up. Barbara's protest against this as an impossibility availed nothing. But a few moments later a Belgian woman took compassion upon them. She was old but sturdy and determined and Eugenia's refusal to occupy her place she would not consider. Moreover, the girl had by this time reached such a condition that she must either sit down or fall. Though desiring her to be as wretched as possible, even her guard appreciated this fact.
Afterwards Barbara decided that she had never gone through more trying hours than those she endured on their way into Holland.
Eugenia scarcely spoke a dozen words. Indeed, she appeared happily unconscious of a great deal of the insolence leveled at her. But Barbara missed nothing. The sergeant's every glance at Eugenia was an insult, whenever he spoke to her it was with a growl. Perhaps his task of driving an American girl out of a once friendly country was such a disagreeable one that no one except a bear would have wished to undertake it.
However, both Barbara and Eugenia were willing exiles. The moment when the girls realized that their feet were upon Dutch soil was the happiest they had spent in many weeks. For here at last their guard said good-bye to them. At least, though he used no words, his behavior had the effect of a good-bye. What he actually did was to deposit them upon the platform of a railroad station, then with a grunt of disfavor turn and strideaway. But the girls both knew that the next train on which they were to travel would run through the peaceful Dutch country.
By night they arrived at a Dutch port. In spite of the peril of floating mines and submarines the Holland passenger boats were still making their nightly journeys to the English coast.
Naturally there were but few passengers aboard, as no one was crossing for pleasure. But tonight there were a small number of business men and a few women.
At eight o'clock in the evening their boat sailed, and immediately after Barbara and Eugenia went to bed. Food was brought to their stateroom, but they were too weary and too excited to eat, so it was scarcely nine o'clock when they were both sound asleep.
Of course they appreciated the possible danger of their crossing. But as a matter of fact neither Barbara nor Eugenia gave the idea five minutes' thought. When one has lived in the midst of war's tragedies and terrors, one no longer worries overpossiblemisfortunes. There is time enough when the blow falls.
Therefore, at midnight the two friends were peacefully sleeping, when they were awakened by an extraordinary sensation and then a tumultuous noise.
Suddenly their little steamer had come to an abrupt halt in mid-sea. There was no warning, no gradual slowing down. One moment they had been traveling at full speed, the next they were at a complete standstill. Then there began a tremendous rushing about on the deck above the floor where the two American Red Cross girls had their berths. Soon after a heavy splash followed as if something had been dropped into the sea.
Although they were both awakened with the first reversal of the boat's engines, neither of the girls spoke until after the noise subsided.
Then it was Eugenia.
"Something extraordinary has happened, Bab dear," she said quietly. "I think you had best go and see what it is. I have a feeling that perhaps our boat isgoing to sink. But there has been no explosion so far!"
Eugenia was extraordinarily calm, almost passive. One may not believe this state of mind to be possible, but wait until you have had just such a personal experience with danger.
Barbara's answer was to scramble quickly out of the upper berth. She chanced to be wearing a warm blue wrapper which served as a gown. So now she only needed to slip her fur coat over it and pull down her gray squirrel cap over her brown curls.
"Be getting dressed, Eugenia, while I find out what has happened. I'll come back in a moment," she advised.
But once outside her stateroom, Barbara discovered only a mild excitement. A few passengers were running up and down the narrow hallway, clinging to scanty costumes. One of them explained the situation to Barbara.
"Nothing's much amiss, we are all getting too nervous these days," he commented. "Our ship has just run up against a solid bank of fog. As we can't see aninch ahead of us, our captain has too good sense to go on in the darkness. We may have to stay here an hour, or twenty-four, there is no telling. Hope a submarine won't come along and pick us off." And with this parting pleasantry Barbara's new acquaintance departed.
The next instant Barbara returned and opened her stateroom door.
"Go back to sleep, Gene dear, everything is serene," she said reassuringly; "there is only a heavy fog at sea. I want to go up on deck and investigate, so please don't worry about me."
A few moments later Barbara was groping her way about on deck until she discovered an empty steamer chair. This she crawled into, tucking her feet up under her and snuggling down close in the darkness. She could still hear the sailors rushing about on deck. Now and then she could even catch the dim outline of a figure, but nothing else was discernible. The very lights suspended from the ship's side were pale and flickering.
Yet it was all immensely interesting.Outside the ship both sky and water had apparently ceased to exist. One could see only a solid mass of gray-black fog like a wet and heavy veil overspreading the world.
Barbara had recovered from her fatigue with her few hours of sleep. Never had she felt more wide awake or more excited. If only it were possible to see more.
Suddenly she jumped up from her chair. It is true the decks were wet and slippery and since she could not see her way about, nor be seen, she might be in danger of falling. Nevertheless, Barbara decided to risk the danger. A tumble more or less need not be serious and she was freezing from sitting still. And yet she had not the faintest intention or desire of going back to her stateroom.
The fog might last for many hours, but then there was the chance that it might lift at any moment. Barbara greatly desired to see the spectacle of a familiar world emerging from darkness into light.
Fortunately her side of the deck appeared to be entirely deserted.
She rose and walked a few steps up and down, compelled to go slowly, for the fog lay like a damp weight upon her chest, pressing her backward with its dim, invisible hands.
But after a little time, growing bolder when the desire to gaze down into the water swept over her, she turned and walked blindly forward. Within a few paces she reached out to grasp the ship's rails.
But instead her hands touched something warm and human. Immediately she gave a smothered cry of embarrassment and fright.
"I am so sorry," she murmured apologetically, then with a characteristic laugh. "But really I don't know whether I have run into you or you into me. Will you please move to the right and I'll go to the left. Then we need never meet again."
"Barbara," began a familiar voice.
For the second time the girl's hands stretched forward, but this time they clung to the coat of the young fellow standing within a few feet of her.
"Dick Thornton, can it be possible this is you, when you are in Brussels?" she protested. "But then how can it be any one except you, although I have not seen you. If it is only your ghost I am holding on to, at least it is a very substantial one, and I never was so glad to meet any other ghost in my life."
In answer Dick Thornton laughed out loud. "Did anyone in the world ever talk in such a ridiculous fashion as Barbara, and yet was there ever anyone so delightful?" He slipped his arm through the girl's.
"Let us walk up and down for a few moments while I explain the reality of my presence," he suggested, quietly taking his companion's consent for granted.
"Personally, I think it would be the more surprising if I were not here. Did you think for an instant I would allow you and Eugenia to go on this long trip alone, when Eugenia has been so ill? I did not mention the subject to you girls, since I did not intend to have a discussion. But whether you allow it or not I shall be yourfaithful follower until you reach the little French farmhouse."
Barbara's eyes were swimming with unexpected tears.
"You are the kindest person in the world always, Dick," she answered. "And I can't tell you how glad I am to have you with us! I did dread the responsibility of Gene more than I would confess. Besides, I want you to see our 'House with the Blue Front Door.' But I wonder if it is fair to Mildred and Nona to have you leave them for even a short time? Your place is with them rather than any one else, isn't it?"
"My place is beside you, Barbara, whenever you are willing to have me," Dick returned in such a matter-of-fact fashion that his companion did not at once understand the meaning of his words.
"Your place beside me?" she repeated slowly. "Why, how is that possible when Mildred is your sister and Nona——"
But Dick was drawing her toward the side of the ship and now they were both leaning against the railing looking down at the glossy darkness beneath them.
"Yes, Mildred is my sister and Nona my friend," Dick continued, "yet neither one of them can mean to me what the girl I would choose above all others to be my wife means. Don't answer me for a moment, Barbara. I have no delusion about your feeling for me, but that makes no difference. I want you to know that ever since those first days in New York you have filled the greater portion of my world. No matter what may happen to divide us, nor how far your life may lead away from mine, I shall not change."
The girl and man were standing within only a few feet of each other. Now Barbara moved closer and laid her hand on her companion's coat sleeve.
"I am not very anxious for anything to divide us, nor for my life to lead far away from yours," she whispered.
At this moment the bank of fog rolled up as if it were a stage curtain being raised in answer to the prompter's bell, when for the first time that evening Dick and Barbara caught the vision of each other's faces.
It was Christmas morning in southern France. For several hours a light snow had been falling, but had not stayed upon the ground. Yet it clothed the branches of the trees with white lace and filled the air with jewels.
Walking alone a slender girl with dark hair and eyes lifted her face to let the snow melt upon her cheeks. She looked fragile, as if she were just recovering from an illness, nor did her expression betray any special interest in Christmas.
"These woods are as lovely as I remember them," she said aloud. "It is true, I never could find a place in Belgium I liked half so well."
Then she stopped a moment and glanced around her.
"I do hope Barbara and Dick won't discover I have run away. I feel as mucha truant as if I were a small girl. But they surely won't be tramping through my woods at present, when they assured me they would spend several hours at the chateau. So I can't be found out till it is too late. I feel I must see Nicolete's little log house and Nona's 'Pool of Melisande.'"
Ten minutes after Eugenia arrived at the desired place. The lake of clear water which she had once described as the "pool of truth" was today covered with a thin coating of ice at its edges. The center was as untroubled as it had always been. Above it tall evergreen trees leaned so close to one another that their summits almost touched.
Eugenia breathed deeply of the fragrance of the snow and the pine. The day was an unusually cold one for this part of the country, but the winter was being everywhere severe. It was as if nature would make no easier the task of her children's destruction of each other.
But Eugenia was not thinking of warlike things at this hour. She was merelyfeeling a physical pleasure in her own returning strength.
Yet just as she was congratulating herself on having been able to walk so far without tiring, the girl experienced a sudden, overpowering sensation of fatigue.
For several moments she stood upright fighting her weakness; she even turned and started back toward home. Then recognizing her own folly, Eugenia looked for a place to rest.
But she did not look very far nor in but one direction. Yes, the log was there in the same place it had been six months before.
With a half smile at herself Eugenia sat down. She was not deceived, for she understood perfectly why she had wished to come back to this neighborhood and why today she had wanted to walk alone into these woods.
But there could be no wrong in what she was doing, since no one would ever guess her reason.
Eugenia was sincerely pleased over Barbara's and Dick's happiness. But shewould never confess herself so completely surprised as Barbara demanded that she be. She merely announced that if one of the girls felt compelled to marry (and she supposed they could not all hope to escape the temptation of their nursing experiences in Europe), at least she was grateful that Barbara had chosen to bestow her affection upon an American. Personally, she felt convinced that no foreign marriage could be a success.
Yet here sat Eugenia in an extremely sentimental attitude with the light snow falling about her. More than this, she was in an equally sentimental state of mind. But then nothing of this kind matters when one chances to be entirely alone. Dreams are one's own possession.
Then the girl heard a sound that entirely accorded with her train of thought.
It was a slow velvet-like tread moving in her direction.
In another moment Duke had approached and laid his great head in her lap. He did not move again; there was no foolish wagging of his tail. These expressions ofemotion were meant for lesser beasts; Duke revealed his joy and his affection in a beautiful, almost a thrilling silence.
Eugenia had not seen her old friend since her arrival at the farmhouse a few days before. For some reason he had not called there with François and she had not been outside the house until today. Their trip had been a long and tiring one and she was more exhausted than she had expected to be.
But this was a far more satisfactory reunion and Eugenia was sincerely moved.
She put her own thin cheek down on Duke's silver head and remained as still as he was. Trulyhehad not forgotten!
Captain Castaigne found them like this when he appeared within the next few seconds.
He made no pretence of a greeting. Instead he frowned upon his one-time friend as severely as she might have upon him had their positions been reversed.
"It is not possible that you are in the woods in this snowstorm, Eugenie! Miss Meade told me that I should find you atthe little farmhouse. Take my arm and we will return as quickly as possible."
With entire meekness Eugenia did as she was told. She did not even remember to be amused at this young Frenchman's amazing fashion of ordering her about. But she was surprised into speechlessness at his unexpected appearance.
"Only yesterday your mother assured us you were in northern France with your regiment," Eugenia murmured as she was being escorted along the path toward home. "She insisted that there was no possible prospect of your returning to this neighborhood in many months."
Captain Castaigne smiled. "Is that American frankness, Eugenie? We French people prefer to leave certain things to the imagination. Of course, I understand that you would never have come to the farmhouse had you dreamed of my being nearby. However, I am here for the purpose of seeing you. My mother did not intend to deceive you; I had not told her of my intention. But we will not talk of these things until we arrive at home. You are too weary to speak."
This was so manifestly true that Eugenia made no attempt at argument.
She was fatigued, and yet there was something else keeping her silent.
How splendidly well Captain Castaigne looked! His face was less boyish than she remembered it. But then she had not understood him at the beginning of their acquaintance. It had been stupid of her too, because no soldier receives the Cross of the Legion of Honor who has not put aside boyish things.
Because it was Christmas day, Noel as the French term it, the living room at the farmhouse was gay with evergreens. But better than this, a real fire burned in the fireplace.
Eugenia let her companion take off her long nursing cloak and she herself removed her cap.
Then she stood revealed a different Eugenia, because of Barbara's taste and determination.
Instead of her uniform or her usual shabby, ill-made dress, she wore an exquisite pale gray crepe de chine, whichmade a beauty of her slenderness. About her throat there were folds of white and in her belt a dull, rose-velvet rose. This costume had been purchased in Paris as the girls passed through and Eugenia wore it today in honor of Christmas.
Without a doubt Eugenia looked pale and ill, but her hair was twisted about her head like a dull brown coronet and the shadows about her eyes revealed their new depth and sweetness.
When she sat down again, drawing near the fire with a little shiver, Captain Castaigne came and knelt beside her.
No American could have done this without awkwardness and self-consciousness. Yet there was no hint of either in the young French officer's attitude. Seeing him, Eugenia forgot her past narrowness and the critical misunderstanding of a nature that cannot appreciate temperaments and circumstances unlike their own. She was reminded of the picture of a young French knight, the St. Louis of France, whom she had seen among the frescoes of the Pantheon in Paris.
Very gravely Captain Castaigne raised Eugenia's hand to his lips.
"I care for you more than I did when I told you of my love and you would not believe. I shall go on caring. How long must I serve before you return my affection?"
Eugenia shook her head fretfully like a child.
"But it isn't a question of my caring. I told you that there were a thousand other things that stood between us, Henri."
Then she drew her hand away and laid it lightly upon the young man's head.
"This house has many memories for me. Perhaps when I am an old woman you will let me come back here and live a part of each year. May I buy the house from your mother? Ask her as a favor to me?"
Eugenia was trying her best to return to her old half maternal treatment of the young officer. This had been the attitude which she had used in the months of his illness in the little "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door."
But this time their positions were reversed.
"We will talk of that another time," he returned. "Now you must be fair with me. I will not accept such an answer as you gave me before. I must be told the truth."
Captain Castaigne had gotten up and stood looking down upon Eugenia.
"I return to my regiment tomorrow. You must tell me today."
In reply the girl let her hands fall gently into her lap and gazed directly into the handsome, clear-cut face above her own.
"Why should I try to deceive you? It would be only sheer pretence. You are the only man I have ever cared for or ever shall. But I'll never marry you under any possible circumstances. I am too old and too unattractive and too—oh, a hundred other things."
But Captain Castaigne was smiling in entire serenity.
"We will marry at the little 'Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door' during my next leave of absence."
But Barbara and Dick were at this moment entering the blue front door.
Half an hour later, when they had finished Christmas dinner, Dick Thornton drew a magazine from his pocket, which had on its cover the sign of the Red Cross.
"Here is a poem some one in America has written called 'She of the Red Cross.' Will you listen while I read it to you? To me the poem, of course, means Barbara and to Captain Castaigne, Eugenia."
"She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman,Because she stands valiant, in the presence of pestilence,And faces woe unafraid,And binds up the wounds made by the wars of men.She fights to defeat pain,And to conquer torture,And to cheat death of his untimely prey.And her combat is for neither glory nor gain, but, with charity and mercy and compassion as her weapons, she storms incessantly the ramparts of grief.There thrills through her life never the sharp, sudden thunder of the charge, never the swift and ardent rush of the short, decisive conflict—the tumult of applauding nations does not reach her ears—and the courage that holds her heart high comes from the voice of her invincible soul.She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman because,reared to await the homage of man and to receive his service, she becomes when the war trumps sound, the servitor of the world.And because whenever men have gone into battle, women have borne the real burden of the fray,And because since the beginning of time, man when he is hurt or maimed turns to her and finds, in her tenderness, the consolation and comfort which she alone can give.Thus she of the Red Cross stands today, as woman has stood always, the most courageous and the most merciful figure in all history.She is the Valor of the World."
"She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman,Because she stands valiant, in the presence of pestilence,And faces woe unafraid,And binds up the wounds made by the wars of men.She fights to defeat pain,And to conquer torture,And to cheat death of his untimely prey.And her combat is for neither glory nor gain, but, with charity and mercy and compassion as her weapons, she storms incessantly the ramparts of grief.There thrills through her life never the sharp, sudden thunder of the charge, never the swift and ardent rush of the short, decisive conflict—the tumult of applauding nations does not reach her ears—and the courage that holds her heart high comes from the voice of her invincible soul.She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman because,reared to await the homage of man and to receive his service, she becomes when the war trumps sound, the servitor of the world.And because whenever men have gone into battle, women have borne the real burden of the fray,And because since the beginning of time, man when he is hurt or maimed turns to her and finds, in her tenderness, the consolation and comfort which she alone can give.Thus she of the Red Cross stands today, as woman has stood always, the most courageous and the most merciful figure in all history.She is the Valor of the World."
"She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman,Because she stands valiant, in the presence of pestilence,And faces woe unafraid,And binds up the wounds made by the wars of men.She fights to defeat pain,And to conquer torture,And to cheat death of his untimely prey.And her combat is for neither glory nor gain, but, with charity and mercy and compassion as her weapons, she storms incessantly the ramparts of grief.There thrills through her life never the sharp, sudden thunder of the charge, never the swift and ardent rush of the short, decisive conflict—the tumult of applauding nations does not reach her ears—and the courage that holds her heart high comes from the voice of her invincible soul.She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman because,reared to await the homage of man and to receive his service, she becomes when the war trumps sound, the servitor of the world.And because whenever men have gone into battle, women have borne the real burden of the fray,And because since the beginning of time, man when he is hurt or maimed turns to her and finds, in her tenderness, the consolation and comfort which she alone can give.Thus she of the Red Cross stands today, as woman has stood always, the most courageous and the most merciful figure in all history.She is the Valor of the World."
"She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman,
Because she stands valiant, in the presence of pestilence,
And faces woe unafraid,
And binds up the wounds made by the wars of men.
She fights to defeat pain,
And to conquer torture,
And to cheat death of his untimely prey.
And her combat is for neither glory nor gain, but, with charity and mercy and compassion as her weapons, she storms incessantly the ramparts of grief.
There thrills through her life never the sharp, sudden thunder of the charge, never the swift and ardent rush of the short, decisive conflict—the tumult of applauding nations does not reach her ears—and the courage that holds her heart high comes from the voice of her invincible soul.
She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman because,reared to await the homage of man and to receive his service, she becomes when the war trumps sound, the servitor of the world.
And because whenever men have gone into battle, women have borne the real burden of the fray,
And because since the beginning of time, man when he is hurt or maimed turns to her and finds, in her tenderness, the consolation and comfort which she alone can give.
Thus she of the Red Cross stands today, as woman has stood always, the most courageous and the most merciful figure in all history.
She is the Valor of the World."
* * * * * *
The fourth volume in the American Red Cross Girls series will be called "The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army."
In this volume the four girls will return to the scene of actual fighting. They will be with the Russian army in their retreat. Moreover, certain characters introduced in the first book will reappear in the fourth, so increasing the excitement and interest of the plot. A new romance differing from the others plays an unexpected part in the life of one of the girls. The story may safely promise to have more important developments than any of the past volumes.