A little maid of Picardy

by Amy Ella Blanchard

This was the first sight they had of the khaki-clad youths, but it was far from being the last, for in that region to which they were going they were soon to become a familiar sight.

The next day they set out. An older lady joined them. Then two men, French, one American, took them in a motor car which had been designated for this service. More and more desolate the scene became as they advanced. Where had been smiling hamlets were only shattered walls, great shell holes, utter waste. As they went on toward abandoned districts, now evacuated by the enemy, there were more signs of life. The kindly green of grass covered silent places. Birds were singing, wild flowers blooming, but everywhere, everywhere were the rows of little crosses which marked the graves of those who no longer heard the birds or saw the flowers blooming above them.

It was a wearisome journey, for the way was difficult over the roughest of roads. The car was loaded to its fullest capacity for there were many necessities which they must take with them. More would follow as their plans developed. Long before they reached their destination silence had fallen upon the whole group, the silence of fatigue.

At last the car stopped. “This is the place, madam,” said the American driver to Mrs. Graves.

Lucie sprang to her feet and looked eagerly around. It looked strangely unfamiliar. There was the main street with the semblance of some of the houses still standing. The factory chimneys had disappeared. The church tower also. From a few of the houses arose a feeble wisp of smoke. Where were the trees, the gardens? From some forgotten corner a single rosebush reared its head to cast the fragrance of its blossoms upon the mild June air.

“Do you think you could locate your house, Lucie?” asked Miss Lowndes in a troubled voice.

Lucie alighted from the car and looked up and down the street. Finally she discovered the walls of the church, which were in fair condition.

“It should be over there,” she said at last, a little frown puckering her brow, “not very far beyond the church.”

“Drive that way slowly, Marcus, if you please,” said Mrs. Graves.

Slowly the car made its way up the street, both Lucie and Paulette keeping a sharp lookout. Paulette was the first to speak. “There it is,” she announced. “I see the little shed where we kept Ninette. It is still standing. The Le Bruns’ house is gone utterly, but the garden wall is standing there.”