“Come,” said the old priest as he motioned me to the seat beside him. “Come, you are just in time, for we were about to begin, fearing you would not arrive.”
I sat down quickly, for I did not wish to delay any longer these good people. The memory of that evening is still very vivid; the low, lamp-lit room, with its quaint engravings on the wall, the old-fashioned furniture, the spotless white linen cloth, heavy silver and thick china, with blue scroll-work bordering of old chateaux and rustic-bridged streams. A large roll of coarse though wholesome brown bread, such as I had seen old “Mamma Katzenjammer” make some time before, was on a plate in the middle of the table, and beside this was a black-handled bread knife; a huge bottle of golden cider stood near the bread. Opposite me was a wooden bowl of salad and a large wooden fork and spoon.
Madame brought from the kitchen a small brown earthenware casserole and placed it before M. le Curé. The removal of the cover disclosed three plump little pigeons. Simultaneously M. le Curé and Madame looked at me. “In your honor,” said the priest as both bowed, jokingly.
I remembered how, when a boy, I had shot a few pigeons, which when cooked I was unable to eat, because they were so tough. But the pigeons of old Madame were not tough. Indeed, I had never eaten any meat more tender. They had been pot roasted.
It was one of the pleasantest evenings I had ever spent in rest billets. As we sat at table they told me that the battalion had left for the front at four o’clock. George had packed my bed-roll, and had placed it and my portable altar on the general service wagon, leaving my haversack with articles I would need for the night. He had left word that we would not be going into action for a day or two and that I would be quite safe in staying that night in Berneville.
As we sat talking in the quiet lamp-lit room, and I realized all that was before me, I could not help thinking how pleasant it would be to live on in this peaceful old house, far from the horrors of war, and preach to the quiet peasants, and teach them the ways of God. But quickly I put this thought from my mind. The Master for whom I labored had sterner work for me to do. And tomorrow morning early I must leave, to go once more into The Red Vineyard.
Chapter LXXXIX
With the Fourteenth
Early the following morning after Mass I said “au revoir” to the old priest and his sister, who walked down to the gate to see me off.
On the way, fearing it might be evening before I would find my battalion, I bought an ordinary three-ounce tin of sardines and paid sixty-five cents for it; but I never ate it. I had the great good fortune to meet a lorry, going towards the front, which brought me to within a few hundred yards of the Sixteenth Battalion, which was camped in a wide green valley. I was fortunate in finding my unit, but soon I was to learn of what was the first of a series of misfortunes.
George met me as I came along and there was a look in his face that I had never seen there before.