The Red Cross Girls with Pershing to Victory. Vandercook Margaret
the instant it seemed impossible to guess what two of his nurses could be doing off duty at daybreak on this morning of all mornings.
Sonya understood and nodded sympathetically.
"You have been to see our troops break camp and start for Germany? I remember you asked permission. I envy you girls the experience, although we shall probably see many extraordinary sights before this day is over. We shall leave in a few hours; naturally it will not take long for us in motor cars, to catch up with the soldiers who are traveling afoot. You will be ready. I hope the sky at present is a good omen of the future."
And Sonya pointed to the rose light overhead.
Later in the day, the Red Cross unit from the hospital in the neighborhood of Château-Thierry took its place in the rear of the line of march of the American Army of Occupation toward Germany.
By this time the sun was shining and the roads had become comparatively clear. Hospital supplies had been sent on ahead with a group of hospital orderlies, Dr. Clark and a corps of his physicians following soon after.
In a later automobile Mrs. Clark had with her half a dozen Red Cross nurses, and in a second Miss Blackstone, the former superintendent of the hospital, an equal number. Also there was a third automobile filled with physicians and orderlies who were to keep as close to the two other cars as circumstances allowed.
Across No Man's land on this November morning, from the northern end of France to the southern, were passing the victorious allied armies, three hundred thousand American troops led by Pershing to victory, and an equal or greater number of French and British.
In the car with Sonya the American girls had but little to say to one another during the first part of their journey. Not only was the land before them desolate beyond description, but filled with tragic memories.
Early in the afternoon, reaching the edge of a little French town, the Red Cross automobiles stopped. The occupants were in no great hurry to move forward. In advance the cavalry had swept on to prepare the way, but the infantry was going ahead slowly and would encamp for the night. This division of the Red Cross intended keeping in the background so that in case the men became ill, they could drop out and be overtaken by nurses and physicians.
The girls were glad of the rest and also extraordinarily hungry, having spent the greater part of the night and every moment since daylight in preparation for the advance.
Their three cars had stopped in front of a small farmhouse on the outskirts of the town.
Approaching the house, Sonya and Dr. Raymond believed it to be empty. The blinds were closed, the pathway to the front door untrodden. Yet it had once been a gay little house of French grey with bright blue shutters.
A knock at the door and both Sonya and the young physician thought they heard scurrying noises inside. Yet knocking again there was no reply.
"Shall I try pushing the little front door open, Mrs. Clark? It is pretty cold eating outside. I can't quite understand the situation. The French people know we are their friends; they have been told to expect nothing but kindness and consideration from us. Do look, already the French civilians are coming out from the village to welcome us. Our little house is surely uninhabited or it would not be so inhospitable."
Following Dr. Raymond's suggestion, Sonya turned.
Standing not far away in a group were the six Red Cross nurses for whom she felt especially responsible, Nona Davis and Mildred Thornton, the two girls who were her intimate and devoted friends and who had made exceptional sacrifices to remain in Europe now that the war was ended. There were also the two comparatively new nurses, Ruth Carroll and Theodosia Thompson, and Bianca Zoli. The sixth girl was the Red Cross nurse, Nora Jamison, who had arrived so late at the hospital. Nevertheless she had been chosen by Dr. Clark to form a member of his Red Cross unit who were to follow the army of occupation.
Beyond them was another group of nurses and physicians.
To Sonya's surprise she saw approaching at this moment from the little French town close by between fifty and a hundred persons. Some of them were old men and women hobbling along on sticks, their faces gaunt and haggard with past suffering, but shining now with happiness. A dozen or more little French girls were marching abreast, one of them carrying a small American flag, another a French. Both flags were evidently home made and must have been carefully hidden from the Germans during their long occupancy of the French village. With them were five or six American soldiers who had been taken prisoners by the Germans and were now being allowed to rejoin their own comrades.
"We haven't a great deal of food, I know," Sonya began impulsively. "But don't you think, Dr. Raymond, we might ask the friends who have come to welcome us and who seem hungriest to share our food? A great quantity of supplies are to follow us and we will probably wait for a few days somewhere along the line of march. Dr. Clark told me he wanted us to be prepared to care for the wounded American soldiers we meet along the way, soldiers who have been imprisoned in Germany and must have suffered untold tortures from improper treatment. Then, if any of our own soldiers are taken ill along the route of march, Dr. Clark is to see they are left in a comfortable hospital with the necessary supplies and it may be we shall be delayed to look after them."
Forgetting her effort to enter the little house, Sonya at this instant moved away from Dr. Raymond to rejoin the other Red Cross nurses.
In French fashion some of the old peasants were kissing the hands of their allies. Miss Blackstone and a physician had already unwound a dirty bandage from the arm of an American soldier and were examining his wound. Sonya had no desire to be left out of the little crowd of French and American friends.
Within fifteen minutes, however, she had again returned to the little house. This time she was accompanied by an old French peasant woman to whom she had explained the situation, inquiring if the farmhouse was in truth uninhabited.
At present it was the French woman who hammered, not gently but with the utmost firmness upon the closed door.
"It may not be possible, madame, that we enter in at the front door," she explained. "It is my impression that la petite Louisa has never once unfastened this door since she opened it to the German soldiers who afterwards took away her mother and older sister. She has been here ever since all alone, as her father and brother were of course with the army. La petite Louisa has since that time been distrait, not you understand exactly in her right senses, but harmless. It is not that her French neighbors have neglected her. I have myself tried to take her home to be with me, but always she comes back to the little grey house."
The old peasant shrugged her shoulders, as she continued banging on the door and talking at the same time.
"There have been so many things to endure. One more forsaken, half starved child! What would you do? Her family was not well known in our village; they had moved here from Paris a short time before the war and were said to have been wealthy people who had fallen into misfortune. So after a time, it may not seem kind, but life has been too hard some of the days even for kindness, so finally we left the little girl alone. Neighbors have given her food when there was food to give. Even a few of the enemy soldiers have sometimes tried to make friends and persuade her to eat, but always she would rush away from them with the great fear."
Not altogether sure of what the old French peasant was trying to make plain to her, yet convinced enough of the tragedy of the story, Sonya laid her hand on the old woman's arm.
"Don't you think we had best not frighten the little girl then by trying to enter her house. Some one else in the village I feel sure will offer us hospitality. And yet something should be done for the little girl, now the war is past she must be made to understand she need not be afraid," Sonya expostulated.
However, the French woman continued knocking.
She also had been calling out in French, reassuring the little girl inside, pleading with her. "La petite Louisa."
And now Sonya heard footsteps drawing near the closed door. The next moment the door partly opened, disclosing the most pathetic child's figure she had ever seen.
The little girl was perhaps twelve years old and did not look like the usual French child, for though her hair was coal black, her eyes