Margaret Vandercook - The Camp Fire Girls in Glorious France

Upon leaving the Château Yvonne, a quarter of an hour after Miss Patricia’s belated arrival, there had been opportunity for only a hastily arranged program.

At that time the plan had been for Mary Gilchrist, following Yvonne Fleury’s instructions, to drive straight ahead. At any point in the road, where a change of direction should be made, or any special instruction given, Mary was to draw her car aside out of the way of the other vehicles, there to await Miss Patricia’s slower approach.

The program possessed a good many obvious weaknesses and yet in the few moments at their disposal before their departure, no one of the Camp Fire party had a better plan to suggest.

Rather surprisingly well it succeeded in the beginning.

Even without the knowledge of Miss Patricia’s clumsy caravan in the background, Mary Gilchrist would not have been able to drive rapidly.

When her car reached the main road, it was found to be not merely filled with refugees seeking safety further behind the line. Reinforcements were being rushed from the opposite direction to stem the German tide.

Advancing slowly the Camp Fire automobile took its place in the long line of other vehicles. Now and then this line was halted by an officer, when heavier trucks and wagons were to be allowed to pass.

Finally, at a convenient crossroad, where she did not interfere with the other traffic, Mary halted.

Within less than half an hour Miss Patricia reached them. There she insisted upon alighting, ostensibly to make certain inquiries and to offer her usual advice, but in reality to discover the state of Mrs. Burton’s health. No one was in the least deceived.

However, as Mrs. Burton insisted she was bearing the journey remarkably well and was far more interested than frightened and that the Camp Fire girls were in the same state of mind, Miss Patricia returned to her wagon and the pilgrimage was resumed.

Toward late afternoon, the effort at a second reunion was less successful.

It was now between four and five o’clock. A great wave of weariness and depression appeared to be engulfing not only the Camp Fire travelers, but the entire band of French refugees.

When they spoke at all to one another, it was only to tell some depressing story. Surely the Germans would capture Paris with this latest victorious assault. Some one reported that the Germans had perfected a long-range gun which would bombard Paris at a distance of seventy miles.

The Camp Fire girls became subject to the same state of despondency. They talked very little; moreover, it was plain to all of them that Mrs. Burton was reaching the end of her reserve strength. Some time before, she had ceased to have anything to say.

Without discussing the question, each one of the girls now understood that they could not travel much further until morning. Some arrangement must shortly be made for the night.

At five o’clock Mary Gilchrist and Yvonne Fleury, who were on the front seat of the motor, discovered a small private road which led from the main road into the yard of a small cottage. Here they concluded to await the second coming of Miss Patricia.

Mrs. Burton they established on the tiny veranda in the front of the house, to rest and at the same time to watch for the approach of the others, while the girls went to make investigations. The house they had chosen seemed to be entirely deserted.

Too tired to care what was going on about her, for some time Mrs. Burton sat huddled in her heavy fur coat. She was too exhausted even to care what became of herself or of anyone else.

At first she scarcely noticed that the Camp Fire girls had left her a long time alone, or that Miss Patricia had failed to appear. But when more than half an hour went by she began to feel nervous.

One could readily imagine that Miss Patricia’s collection of farm animals might have given out from their long march and be unable to continue the journey.

Mrs. Burton also began to worry over Sally Ashton and Vera. She had not been able to exchange a word with either of them on their arrival at the château, and knew nothing of their experiences in the last few days since they had said goodby at the farmhouse on the Aisne.

The March winds were growing piercingly cold now that the sun was dying down. Still the little groups of refugees kept moving on past the yard of the cottage where Mrs. Burton sat waiting.

Finally the travelers seemed to be growing fewer in number; they too must have become exhausted by their long pilgrimage and be taking shelter or else resting along the roadside.

Stiff from the cold and having remained seated so long, as no one of the Camp Fire girls came back to join her, Mrs. Burton at length rose and walked out of the yard of the cottage toward the main road. It might be possible that catching sight of Miss Patricia’s approach she would be relieved of her anxiety.

After strolling on for a few yards, Mrs. Burton observed a crowd of refugees who must have halted to rest. They were seated in small groups along either side of the road. Drawing nearer, Mrs. Burton saw that their faces wore that look of patient endurance, which in the past few months she had witnessed so many times in the faces of the French peasants. They were not uncheerful, now that they were resting. Eating their evening meal life seemed to hold out fresh hope. After all, had they not been assured that the United States was each day landing thousands of fresh troops in France? Soon the enemy would be driven out of France forever!

Then, a little further on, Mrs. Burton beheld a familiar and well beloved figure.

Passing between the groups of refugees, most of them old men and women who had been traveling on foot, pushing perambulators or else drawing wagons laden with tiny children or their few household possessions, marched Miss Patricia Lord.

She appeared to be dispensing food to her fellow travelers, as on one arm she was carrying a large pail and on the other a basket.

Discovering Mrs. Burton she set both the pail and the basket down in the middle of the road and strode forward, and for once in her life Miss Patricia appeared apologetic.

“Polly, my dear, forgive me for keeping you waiting so long. I hope you are not utterly worn out; I am extremely worried about you and yet I could not resist what I am doing at present. I have had no opportunity to tell you that I brought away with me from our farmhouse nearly all the food supply we had in our possession. It was my intention then to feed as many refugees as possible along the road to Paris. I presume I should have thought of you first, but I believed you would feel obliged to wait for me somewhere and that you had journeyed far enough for today. Come with me.”

Meekly following Miss Patricia, who had by this time picked up her now empty basket and pail, Mrs. Burton walked on a few yards more.

In a little patch of grass, springing up near the roadside under the few warm rays of the March sun, Mrs. Burton found old Jean, the French peasant, milking one of Miss Patricia’s cows. Beside him and engaged in a similar occupation was a young French boy.

Drawn up out of the way of the other vehicles, that were still passing along the main road, Miss Patricia’s horses and wagon were waiting. Standing beside the wagon, was Vera Lagerloff. She was bestowing a small package of food upon anyone who requested it, but at the same time keeping careful watch on the main supply.

Not until a second glance, did Mrs. Burton discover what had become of Sally Ashton. Then she saw Sally standing listlessly a few feet away, making no effort to help either Vera or Miss Patricia and scarcely appearing to notice the people about her.

As her Camp Fire guardian approached, Sally tried to express a proper degree of enthusiasm and affection, yet Sally’s appearance frightened and puzzled Mrs. Burton.