"Yes, you'd be doing your bit on the land just as much as in a factory," said Miss Gordon kindly. "It isn't everybody who cares to take up canteen work. Let's hope the war will be over before you leave school. You'll have several years more at your lessons yet, I suppose."
The little country mouse was certainly turned into a town mouse for these Christmas holidays. Avelyn felt that she had never before seen so much of Harlingden, even when she had lived there. The Lascelles were very public-spirited people, who were interested in everything that was going on in the city and anxious to lend a hand in all schemes for the general good. They sewed national costumes for the Serbians, rolled bandages at the War Supply Depot, distributed dinners at the municipal kitchens, taught gymnastic classes at girls' clubs, visited crippled children, got up concerts for wounded soldiers, and organized Christmas parties for slum babies. They seemed to be occupied nearly every minute of the day, and they soon swept Avelyn into the whirl of the war activities. If it was not exactly her ideal life, she nevertheless liked it, and felt that she was being of use. She went with Cousin Lilia to the Town Hall, and rather enjoyed standing behind a counter handing out pies, or ladling soup into jugs for the rows of busy people who kept pushing in from the long queue standing in the courtyard outside. She admired the smart quick drill in Mary's gymnasium class, and marvelled that the girls had so much spirit left after their long day's work; she made the whole of a Serbian child's dress herself, with beautiful barbaric red-and-blue trimming on it; she helped to hand cigarettes round to the soldiers at their concert; and she played "Blind Man's Buff" and "Drop the Handkerchief" with the slum children at the New Year's party in the Ragged School.
She had an altogether fresh experience at the Crèche. This day nursery was a new institution in Harlingden, and had been opened in order that women who wished to help at munitions might leave their babies to be taken care of while they were at work. Gwen Lascelles gave two mornings a week to it, as a voluntary nurse, thereby releasing some of the staff to go off duty. One day she offered to take Avelyn with her, and the latter jumped at the invitation.
"Matron doesn't mind, and you'd be a help," said Gwen. "Nurse Barnes is away ill, so we're short-handed just now, and sometimes it's all I can do to manage. One or two of those toddlers are the limit!"
Elton Lodge had been lent by a patriotic citizen for use as a day nursery, and was well adapted for the purpose. It had plenty of accommodation, and a garden where the babies could be out of doors in summer. Gwen and Avelyn arrived here by ten o'clock, took off coats and hats, donned aprons, and entered the ward. This was a large, light, airy room, or rather two rooms thrown together. At one end stood twelve cribs in which lay twelve babies, most of them fast asleep. At the other end, grouped round the high fire-guard, were sixteen little toddlers of all ages from eighteen months to four years. The nurse in charge rose with an air of relief and handed over her duties to Gwen.
"They're all right," she remarked, "all but Curly, who's in a temper to-day. Don't let George bully the others, and smack Eddie if he tries to unfasten the fire-guard. He knows what to expect! Nurse Peters will be in the laundry if you want her."
The nurse made her escape, and the toddlers came crowding round Gwen, clamouring for her to open the toy-box. Avelyn strolled across the room to inspect the babies. They had just had their bottles, and indeed some had not yet quite finished and were sucking away contentedly. They were dear babies, some quite wee who counted their ages by weeks, and older ones with little tight silky curls. One blue-eyed, tearful, barefooted person stood up in her crib and held out a beseeching pair of arms. Avelyn could not resist the appeal. She took up the small creature and cuddled it; it clasped her tightly round the neck, put a confiding head on her shoulder, and sobbed gently. Gwen disengaged herself from the toddlers and came across.
"We're really not supposed to take them up and nurse them," she said. "But I own I break the rules sometimes. Poor little Queenie's a new-comer; she's been petted at home and hasn't got used to crèche ways yet. She'll soon settle down. Look at Arthur! Isn't he splendid? When he first came he was simply skin and bone through improper feeding. His mother used to give him tastes of tea and red herrings. This is Frankie, our special crèche baby. He lives here altogether. His mother is in prison for ill-treating him, poor wee darling! She's not to have him again when she comes out—the judge said so. I know you'd love Patty if she were awake. She's got the cutest little ways."
Gwen went round from cot to cot performing services for the babies, restoring a teat to a small mouth that had not yet finished its bottle, covering cold hands, turning the position of some, and patting others who were inclined to be fretful and wail.
"I just long to nurse them," she assured Avelyn. "But you see it really wouldn't do to let them get into the habit of thinking that they must be taken up and played with every time they cry."