"Will you fast then, while you remain at Clair?" asked Ruth rather wickedly.
"Ow-wow!" shrieked the plump girl. "How you can twist a fellow's meaning around! No! I merely will not cook!"
"But she still hopes to eat," said Helen. "What is it you want of your poor slaves, Lady Ruth?"
"Do my work here while I'm gone. Look out for the supplies. I can break you both in this morning. I do not know just when I shall be called for——"
"By whom, pray?" put in the saucy Jennie drawlingly.
Ruth ignored the question. "You will not find this work difficult. And, as Jennie suggests, it will be a change."
"Good-night!" groaned Jennie.
"Don't lose heart, sister," said Helen cheerfully. "I understand that Ruth often goes into the wards and writes letters for the poor poilus, and feeds them canned peaches and soft puddings. Isn't that what you do, Ruthie?"
"Better not let me do that," grumbled Jennie. "I might be tempted to eat the goodies myself. I'll write the letters."
"Heaven help the home folks of the poor poilus, my dear," Helen responded. "Nobody—not even Madame Picolet—could ever read your written French."