The thought of her twin brother going to war had at first shocked and startled Helen. Now she added:
“For you know very well, Ruth Fielding, that Tom Cameron should not be allowed to go over there to France all alone.”
“Goodness, Helen!” gasped the girl of the Red Mill, “you don’t suppose that Tom is going to constitute an Army of Invasion in his own person, and attempt to whip the whole of Germany before the rest of Uncle Sam’s boys jump in?”
“You may laugh!” cried Helen. “He’s only a boy—and boys can’t get along without somebody to look out for them. He never would change his flannels at the right time, or keep his feet dry.”
“I know you have always felt the overwhelming responsibility of Tom’s upbringing, even when he was at Seven Oaks and you and I were at Briarwood.”
“Every boy needs the oversight of some feminine eye. And I expect he’ll fall in love with the first French girl he meets over there unless I’m on the spot to warn him,” Helen went on.
“They are most attractive, I believe,” laughed Ruth cheerfully.
“‘Chic,’ as Madame Picolet used to say. You remember her, our French teacher at Briarwood?” Helen said.
“Poor little Picolet!” Ruth returned with some gravity. “Do you know she has been writing me?”
“Madame Picolet? You never said a word about it!”