“But you knew she returned to France soon after the war began?”
“Oh, yes. I knew that. But—but, to tell the truth, I hadn’t thought of her at all for a long time. Why does she write to you?”
“For help,” said Ruth quietly. “She has a work among soldiers’ widows and orphans—a very worthy charity, indeed. I looked it up.”
“And sent her money, I bet!” cried the vigorous Helen.
“Why—yes—what I felt I could spare,” Ruth admitted.
“And never told any of us girls about it. Think! All the Briarwood girls who knew little Picolet!” Helen said with some heat. “Why shouldn’t we have had a part in helping her, too?”
“My dear,” said her chum seriously, “do you realize how little interest any of us felt in the war until this last winter? And now our own dear country is in it and we must think of our own boys who are going, rather than of the needs of the French, or the British, or even the Belgians.”
“Oh, Ruth!” cried Helen suddenly, “perhaps Madame Picolet might help us to get over there.”
“Over to France?”
“I mean to get into some work in France. She knows us. She may have some influence,” said the eager Helen.